Those Eyes
by fakiagirl
Summary: USUK, AU. Arthur is beginning to feel past his prime, but he keeps going to the club anyway. One night he meets a man named Alfred who can't seem to keep his eyes off of him. He keeps giving Arthur his number - and Arthur can't stop thinking about him.
1. Excuse Me If I'm Coming On Too Strong

_Chapter 1: Please Excuse Me If I'm Coming On Too Strong_

_Author's note: _This fic is AU, approximately modern times. Since it's pretty much from Arthur's POV, I decided I might as well use British English spelling. If you see any mistakes/phrases Arthur wouldn't use, let me know!

I don't own Hetalia or any of the songs or their lyrics used in this story. This honestly isn't a song fic; the lyrics are used more for the mood than anything else, and the characters are actually listening to the songs. Songs in this chapter: "I Like It," by Enrique Iglesias (though I didn't use all of the lyrics). Feel free to listen to it while reading! There are actually only three chapters that have songs in them; the first two, and then The Smiths make an appearance a bit later. :)

* * *

Arthur went to the club twice a month, on Friday nights. It was his treat to himself, the one time he could wear something other than a collared shirt, the one place that could make him feel he still had some sex appeal. He certainly wasn't looking for love, because at this point he was pretty damn sure that love wasn't looking for him.

He took the subway, gazing vacantly at a spot above the other passengers' heads. The tight, black leather pants were different enough from his normal attire that he was fairly certain no one from work would recognise him, but the attitude didn't hurt. The subway slowed as it reached his stop. He got off and walked the rest of the way to the club, the pink neon sign glowing comfortingly at its entrance.

He walked in as usual, cocking his head to the side in a careless, confident way. He gave them his coat and scarf to be put away – they knew him at this point and took it from him without question – and entered the dance floor. The music was loud and drove all thoughts from his mind. It took him less than a minute to loose himself in the mass of people and find a suitable rhythm. Time seemed to loose meaning, marked only by the passage of songs. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them he found another gaze locked on his own. A pair of blue eyes, meeting his straight on for an instant, then lost in the crowd. Bodies writhed, shifted, and the eyes appeared again, still meeting his own.

_Girl please excuse me if I'm coming too strong,  
But tonight is the night we can really let go;  
My girlfriend's out of town and I'm all alone.  
Your boyfriend's on vacation and he doesn't have to know._

He looked elsewhere carelessly, as if he still hadn't noticed, and then glanced back casually and just a little flirtatiously from underneath his eyelashes. They were gone. He bit his lip slightly in disappointment, searching the crowd, but he had lost them. _Whatever, _he thought, and concentrated on his dancing again. _They probably we're really looking at you in the first place. _

_No I won't, oh oh, oh oh;  
No one can do the things I'm gonna wanna to do to you,_

It was hard to tell what people looked like in such a place, but he was pretty sure there there had been a hint of blond hair.

_No I won't, oh oh, oh oh;  
Shout it out, scream it loud, let me hear you go –_

And there he was, in front of Arthur, blond hair brushing the thin frames of his glasses. He was grinning in the pause in the music, moving in on Arthur in a way that left no room for interpretation. Then he was mouthing the words, almost talking to Arthur, and a shiver ran down his spine.

_Baby I like it,  
The way you move on the floor;  
Baby I like it,  
Come on and give me some more;  
Oh yes I like it,  
Screaming like never before,  
Baby I like it,  
I, I, I like it._

They were dancing in sync, and it wasn't Arthur's doing. This man had an aura of confidence that drew Arthur in, though he would have liked to deny it, and whoever he was, he couldn't seem to stop smiling.

_Girl please excuse me if I'm misbehaving, oh;  
I'm trying keep my hands off,  
But you're begging me for more._

He moved closer so their hips touched, and Arthur gave him a condescending look that they both knew wasn't condescending at all.

_Round, round, round,  
Give a low, low, low;  
Let the time time pass  
'Cause we're never getting old.1_

(And for a few minutes, Arthur believed it.) The man moved even closer, his breath hot on Arthur's throat. He was smiling, and Arthur found an answering smile forming on his lips.

_Shout it out, scream it loud, let me hear you go –_

Arthur let them touch with every beat of the music. He examined him as much as their close quarters would allow. He was slightly taller than Arthur and had broader shoulders. His thin shirt caught on the muscles in his chest and shoulders as he moved. He rolled his neck luxuriously, a lock of hair that had been in his eyes righting itself.

_God, _thought Arthur. He could feel himself responding, his heart beating faster and his breath becoming slightly uneven. _What I would like to do to you. . . ._

The song ended, but they kept dancing through another, and then another; and when Arthur was starting to feel his muscles protesting, the other man leaned in close and yelled above the music, "Wanna get off the floor?"

"Why not?" Arthur replied, looking at him side-long.

The man set off through the crowd, occasionally elbowing people to get them out of the way as if by accident. Arthur followed closely. When they were through the worst of the crowd he slowed and found a support beam to lean against. It was mostly out of the way, in view of the bar, and music was slightly less deafening. He turned back to Arthur and titled his head, still smiling. "The name's Alfred Jones."

_Jones. Remember it. _"A pleasure to meet you," Arthur drawled.

"Oh no, the pleasure's all mine." He grinned. "That's a British accent, right?"

"English, yeah."

"Not just passing through, I hope?"

Arthur's mouth twitched into a smile. "No, I live here."

"Yesss," said Jones, pulling his fist towards him. Arthur raised an eyebrow but Jones ignored it. "You come here often?"

"Every Friday." It was stretching the truth, but everything became distorted in the half-light of the club.

Jones grinned again. "Awesome. Hey, hey, can you wait a minute?"

"Uh, yeah." Jones disappeared back into the crowd and Arthur was left feeling a little alone, but perhaps also a little flattered. He took up Jones's spot on the beam and let his eyes roam the room, but nothing could hold his interest.

Jones really was gone for only a few moments, and when he reappeared he was holding a scrap of paper. He took Arthur's hand and pressed the paper into it. "I gotta get going, sorry, but –" A grin flashed white in the darkness. "Call me, 'kay?" He gave Arthur a mock salute vanished into the crowd.

His words echoed in Arthur's head a few times as he stared at the spot where the man had just been. Someone else quickly filled in the space he had occupied, just another body pulsing to the music. He unfolded the paper and peered at it. It was clearly a number, though he couldn't make it out. He shoved it in his pocket and thought briefly about joining in again, but his good mood was quickly replaced by uncertainty and he felt drained. He began working his way towards the exit, his thoughts troubled. _You cannot call him, _Arthur told himself as he boarded the subway. _He knows nothing about you, and you know nothing about him. It's hardly likely he was serious. _(Oh, but God, the way he moved, his hair, the hollow of his throat, the burning warmth of his hand pressed against your own –) He leaned his head against the pole he was holding onto. _Arthur, be logical. You flirted, nothing more. _By the time he got home he had decided that he was going to throw the number away, or at least put it somewhere where he would never look at it again.

But his subconscious had already decided that he was going back to the club the next week, breaking his schedule to go twice in a row. It had decided the moment he'd caught sight of Alfred Jones's smile, and he'd known exactly what Alfred had meant when he had asked,_"You come here often?"_


	2. Ain't I Seen You Before?

_Chapter 2: Ain't I Seen You Before?_

_Author's note: _Songs in this chapter: "DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love," by Usher (featuring Pitbull), and "Sexy Bitch" by David Guetta (featuring Akon). I didn't use the lyrics for either of them in full.

Edit: I added a bit to the ending of the previous chapter. Thanks to Bun Kirkland for suggesting I do so!

Edit 2: Thanks to Judy-Licious for helping me adjust the alcohol content in this chapter for accuracy!

* * *

The week passed agonisingly slowly. _You deserve a treat, _he told himself on Wednesday. _You've been working hard. Two Fridays in a row won't kill you. _On Thursday, he found himself thinking about Jones at work and he thoroughly reprimanded himself. By Friday afternoon, there was no point in denying it: he was going, and he was going because he wanted to see Jones again.

He took a shower when he got home, which he normally didn't bother with on nights he went to the club. He knew he was just going to get sweaty again anyway. He poured himself a bitter with dinner and had a strong cup of tea afterward (caffeinated, of course) with some vague idea that the caffeine would counteract the alcohol and he would able to stay up later than usual if he wanted to. Then he distracted himself by reading a day-old newspaper, and somewhere along there he poured himself another bitter and drank it a little too quickly, because there wasn't much point in being caffeinated if he couldn't get out the door.

When he finally decided that yes, he really should get ready, he passed the drawer that he'd put Alfred's number into. He paused before continuing on his way. He found himself agonising over which ancient t-shirt to wear, and finally just grabbed the closest one in irritation with himself. He found his studded belt in the back of a drawer and buckled it over his black leather pants. He looked at himself in the mirror, looked at the wide-eye person staring back at him, and realised he was nervous. This knowledge didn't keep him from feeling slightly sick as he got on the subway, nor did it keep his heart from racing every time he saw a flash of teeth inside the club.

_Just relax, _he told himself. _He's not important. _He let himself get sucked in the crowd, and he tried to find the beat. He found it, and felt the stress drain out of him. Reality seemed to slip away. A few more songs played – two? three? – and then a new one began. 

_Usher, Usher, Usher  
Yeah man, ah man –  
So we back in the club.  
Get that bodies rockin' from side to side (si-side to side)  
Thank God the week is done, I feel like a zombie gone back to life (ba-back to life)_

_Amen to that, _thought Arthur, closing his eyes briefly and throwing himself into the new beat.

_Hands up, and suddenly we all got our hands up  
No control of my body –  
Ain't I seen you before?  
I think I remember those  
Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, e-e_

He opened his eyes and faltered, accidentally bumping into someone next to him. A pair of blue eyes in the crowd were fastened on his own. A charismatic grin flashed white in the dim light. It vanished. Arthur found himself moving through the crowd without meaning to. He circled around, playing Jones's game, and appeared in front of him suddenly. When Jones's eyes lit upon Arthur's, he broke into a smile like a sunny day.

_So dance, dance  
Like its the last last night  
Of your life, life  
Im'ma get you right –  
Cuz baby tonight  
The DJ got us falling in love again_

Arthur shifted ever so slightly and their hips touched.

"You never called," he yelled over the music.

"Lost the number," Arthur replied.

Alfred was more daring than before, and more relaxed. He moved like liquid and Arthur couldn't get enough of him. As he mouthed the words he threw his hands up in the air, daring Arthur to do the same.

_Keep downing drinks like this, not tomorrow, not just right now, now, now, now, n-now, now;  
Gonna set the roof on fire, gonna burn this motherfo– down, down, down, down, d-down, down;  
Hands up when the music drops, we both put our hands up,  
Put your hands on my body._

Arthur just raised an eyebrow, but he had to look away to hide a smile. He couldn't remember having this much fun in a long time. He shifted so they were standing next to each other, facing opposite directions, and they bumped shoulders and then hips, grinding into each other sideways. He took the opportunity to look Jones up and down. He had on tight jeans like last time, and an equally tight shirt. This one was white, decorated with a stylised pink and orange sunset and some text he couldn't read. Arthur realised with a start that this was man was _young – _almost definitely fresh out of university. _Oh God, _he thought, his face going pale. _This isn't good at all. He's what – maybe 25? I bet even that's a stretch. Eight years your junior, best-case scenario. _He closed his eyes, his cheeks burning. _How could you not have noticed? Because you were too damn distracted. Dammit. You shouldn't be here. _But he wasn't going to leave, and he knew it.

He hadn't realised the song had changed. Jones was still smiling, just a little bit, and sexily. He put his hand lightly on Arthur's arm, so close his lips brushed his hair. _"Damn, you's a sexy bitch, a sexy bitch,"_ he half-murmured, half-yelled in Arthur's ear, exactly in time with the music. Arthur felt a spark of rebellion growing in his heart. _Arthur, you're 33. You can do whatever the hell you want. If he wants to flirt, dammit, show him how it's done._

Arthur shifted and ground their hips together. Jones looked into his eyes, momentarily surprised, then grinned and put a hand lightly on the side of his right hip, holding him there. Another song started and Arthur decided that he had had enough of this. He put his hand on the other man's shoulder, pulling him close, and yelled over the music, "How about a drink?"

Jones nodded, grinning with confidence. Arthur pretended not to notice or care, weaving his way in and out of the crowd quickly and without a backward glance. His drink from earlier that evening still had him feeling pleasantly relaxed. The volume of the music was lessened slightly at the bar, and Arthur was able to swing himself up onto a stool and ask for a drink in something quieter than a yell.

"A bitter, please." The bartender looked at him blankly. Arthur waved his hand in exasperation. "A beer." The bartender nodded and looked over his shoulder just as Jones slid up behind him.

"Same."

"Right away," the bartender said with a thick German accent, and disappeared.

Jones adjusted his glasses and began to spin the stool back and forth like a little kid, seemingly unconsciously. He looked at Arthur and put an elbow on the table, propping himself up cockily. "So, what's your name, stranger?"

Arthur returned his gaze, letting a smile tug at his lips. "Kirkland."

"And why might you come to a place like this, every Friday night?"

"Just to have some fun."

"Right, end of a long week and all that." His eyes were locked on Arthur's, and he didn't even look up when the bartender reappeared with their drinks.

"Thanks," Arthur told the bartender, and took a sip of the beer. He automatically wanted to make a face, even after all these years of what Americans called "beer," but he didn't allow himself to. The stuff he had at home was much better, but he had ordered it specially and of course he wouldn't find anything like it at a bar. The glass bottle clinked as he set it down on the table with a sigh. "Yes. A long week." An office job was his kind of job, he supposed, but the menial labor left him absolutely drained. God, the office. . . . He drank more without realising what he was doing, his thoughts at work again, the one place he didn't want them be. Jones's voice drew him back to reality.

"Kirkland's not much of a first name," he was telling him.

Arthur looked at him askance and took another long drink. He debated leaving him hanging, but decided that would be infantile. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah." He nodded sagely, as if it made sense. "So, you're English, right?"

"Yes, I come from England. Lemme guess, you're American?" he said, aiming for sarcasm. Jones didn't seem to catch it.

"Yup," he said proudly, his foot tapping against the counter in time with the music. "Born and raised. You like the Who?" Arthur looked at him blankly. He pointed at Arthur's chest. Arthur looked down and realised that he was indeed wearing a band t-shirt with "The Who" printed on it.

"I suppose. Haven't listened to them in a while."

"I always thought the Rolling Stones were better."

"I don't know about that. Can't really compare them, I think."

"How about the Ramones? They're the best. I can't believe they broke up, ugh. If only I'd be born earlier, right?"

"Mm." Arthur felt himself panicking slightly and started to fiddle with the almost empty beer bottle. He hadn't talked music in years. What had he liked, back in the day? "I don't know, I've always preferred the Sex Pistols myself."

Jones looked taken-aback. "No way. I mean, I know you guys got a lot of the good bands, but come on, the Sex Pistols? The Ramones _started_ punk."

"Tsk. The Sex Pistols did much more for the movement." He tilted the bottle to his lips but nothing came out. He waited for Jones to say something, but he didn't. He looked at him and saw that he was still looking at him, smiling strangely. "What?"

"Want another beer?"

"Sure."

"I'm buying."

Arthur shrugged. "Alright." The beers appeared.

"What do you do in real life?"

Arthur sighed. He didn't want to talk about it, but it couldn't hurt to humour him. "Insurance. I work for an insurance company."

"How long you been living here?"

Arthur gestured around them. "Here, New York? Here, the United States?"

"Either. Both." Jones looked genuinely interested.

Arthur took a slow sip of his beer, calculating. "Seven years this side, six in the city. I lived with friends in Virginia for a bit."

"This side of what?"

"The pond." Jones's eyebrows furrowed. "The Atlantic Ocean. You know." He shook his head; _Americans._ "So you're what, from California?" he hazarded, gesturing vaguely at the t-shirt with his drink. _Or Florida? _

"Yeah! How'd you guess?"

Arthur was tempted to roll his eyes, but refrained from doing so. "You look light a sunset threw up on you."

Jones grinned and patted his pink and orange shirt. "Nothing beats SoCal style."

"SoCal?"

"_Southern California_." He said it as though it was obvious.

Arthur frowned and decided to change the subject. "So what are you doing in New York, New York?"

"College." He grinned, and Arthur choked on his drink. _He's still in university? _"I moved as far away from my parents as I possibly could, and just ended up staying."

"Graduated, then?" he coughed out.

"Yup. I'm free. Can't find a job in this economy though, you know? I worked at McDonald's through college, and now I work at a comic book store. I'm not complaining, though; there was nothing like a good hamburger after a long day of working." He ran his hand through his hair and looked off into the distance with a smile, irresistibly attractive. (The way the tendons in his hand moved, the shift of the shadows on his face. . . .) "Ah, I could really go for one right now."

"Right now?" The thought made Arthur's stomach turn, and he hastily downed some more of his drink.

"Yeah, why not?" He looked at Arthur with an expression of honest innocence on his face.

Arthur suppressed a shudder and let his mouth turn downwards. "That stuff's _terrible_ for you."

"Aw, come on! You don't see me getting fat, do you?" He sat up straighter and tightened his abs.

Arthur hid a smile. _Not very mature, are you?_ He drained the last of his beer and gestured the bartender over, indicating that they'd like the same again. Jones raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. "Oh," he said suddenly, as if remembering something. "Did you see the game last night?"

Two more beers appeared. "The game?"

"Yeah! You do watch football, right?"

"You mean American football."

"Well, yeah."

"No, I don't."

Alfred looked at him open-mouthed. "Seriously? How long did you say you'd lived here? Seven years? You're practically a citizen by default!"

"I doubt all your citizens watch . . . football."

"Psh." Alfred flapped his hand in dismissal. "_Everyone _watches football."

"Stop calling it football," Arthur told him. "Football is played with your feet, as it should be. And don't tell me it's called soccer!"

"But it _is _called soccer," Alfred said, almost whining. "What are we supposed to call real football, then?"

"Soccer _is _real football." How Arthur's beer was diminishing so quickly, he didn't know. He nodded at the bartender and raised his own beer; he was definitely going to need another one. What number was he on now?

"You really don't have real football in the UK?"

"We do, but we don't care about it because it's _bloody stupid._"

"Ha! So you admit that football is real football!"

"_No, _I just told you that it's stupid and that only real football is any good!" Arthur realised he was starting to get lost. The bartender put Arthur's next beer on the table. "Cheers," Arthur said to him, and he wisely decided to change the subject. "You really want a hamburger right now?"

Jones sipped some of his beer and then set it down with a sigh. "Most definitely."

"So why are you bothering to talk to _me_? I'm not much of anything."

Jones smiled sexily, looking Arthur up and down out of the corner of his eye. "Not true. In fact, you look almost as bad for me as that burger."

"I thought you didn't think they were bad for you."

"Oh, no, I know it, I just eat them anyway." He grinned at Arthur.

Arthur's head was feeling strange, but pleasant, and he decided to go along with it. "So, what," he asked, raising an eyebrow haughtily, "you just pick up every man you see, assuming that they'll fall for you even if they're straight as anything?"

Jones gave him a wolfish grin. "You telling me you're straight as anything?"

A fire spread through Arthur's body and he tingled all over. The feeling in his head blurred together with everything else and his cheeks felt hot. He emptied his beer with a drawn-out swig. "What d'y'say we give this another try?" He jerked a hand towards the dance floor and looked at Alfred from beneath his eyelashes. _Alfred. A funny name._

"Er. . . ." Alfred was looking at him warily. "I don't think –"

"Come on. You Americans never know how to have any fun." Arthur slid off the stool but misjudged the distance. Alfred reached out a hand and grabbed him by the arm, holding him upright.

"Careful there," he said, laughing, and tried to ease Arthur back onto the stool. "I don't think more dancing's a great idea for you."

Arthur resisted, pushing against his forearms. "What? That's the whole point of a club, no?" _He's surprisingly strong_. _And God, nice arms. _Everything was slightly fuzzy. He forgot what he was doing and ended up half sitting on the stool, half leaning on Alfred.

"Oy," Alfred called over the music, beckoning the bartender over. "You got a Sharpie?"

The bartender disappeared before reappearing with a permanent marker. Arthur looked on, dumbfounded, as Alfred pressed his left hand flat against the counter and scribbled something on it. Arthur tried clenching it into a fist experimentally, but Alfred was too strong. "Here's my number, so you don't lose it again." He flashed a grin at him and handed the marker back the bartender. "Thanks man. Now, let's get you home."

And that was about the last thing Arthur remembered before he woke up the next morning, the sun streaming through his curtains.

* * *

_Author's note:_ Urk, twice as long as the later chapter and mostly dialogue. :( It was hard to write, and I'm sorry if it shows. Next one is more fun, and it should be up a bit quicker! ;) Also: No, they didn't have sex. I know that's always what happens when someone gets drunk and can't remember the night before, but I wouldn't do that to either of them.


	3. Good Morning

_Chapter 3: Good Morning _

* * *

_Saturday_

It couldn't have been the light that woke him, because when he rolled over onto his side his clock said that it was 1:34 pm. It was _afternoon._

Arthur sat up in alarm and immediately regretted it. "Ah!" he said, clenching his head in his hands and pulling his legs underneath him. The headache pulsed in time with his heartbeat, driving all thoughts from his mind. When it had faded slightly, he released his head and shielded his eyes from the light. He groped about blindly until he felt the curtain underneath his fingers. He wrenched it closed and looked around his room, bleary-eyed.

His room looked normal, though his boots were thrown haphazardly on the floor. That was unlike him. He must have been exhausted when he got back from the club. The club. That seemed important somehow. God, he really needed to pee. He moved his tongue across his teeth; they felt gross, and there was a bad taste in his mouth. Had he been . . . drinking? He groaned and smacked his forehead as he remembered _why _he had been drinking. _You're an idiot, _he told himself. _You know that? Chasing a man you met at a club. Like your past relationships have worked out well. You seriously think flirting with him was a good idea? Ow. _He had shifted so he was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he realised that it wasn't just his head. His legs hurt, his back hurt, his neck hurt, his throat hurt. Dancing hadn't always done this to him. _You're getting old, Arthur. _He sighed and stood up.

He used the loo and then poked around in the kitchen until he found the bottle of ibuprofen. He got himself a glass of water and downed a couple, hoping they'd kick in quickly. He shuffled back towards the bathroom. His pants were too tight; why did he wear these? He was just about to open the door when a bit of white caught his attention. It was a piece of paper sitting on his desk, and there was writing on it that wasn't his. He picked it up. It said:

_Arthur, _

_You passed out pretty quick so I figure I should leave you a note. I got the impression you were kind of drunk so I figured I should make sure you got home safely. It took like half an hour to get your address out of you, btw. Anyway, I took some money out of your wallet to pay the cab, but I put the rest back, I promise. :) And I didn't steal anything. You seemed kind of worried about that. IDK. _

_I had a nice time. _

_– Alfred Jones_

_P.S. My number is on your hand. _

Arthur glanced at his hand; yes, there was Alfred's number – again. Why was everything after that a blur of light and dark and colour? He flushed crimson. "_I got the impression you were kind of drunk"? _Had he really let himself get wasted? He crumpled the piece of paper in anger, but then smoothed it out again. _He bothered to leave you a note, _Arthur told himself. _That's good. He stole your money to pay for the cab, but it's okay. _He took a deep breath. _Just go take a shower. You can deal with this later. _

He stripped off his clothes and left them in a pile on the floor because for once, he really couldn't care less. He turned the water on hot and let it warm up. He made the mistake of looking in the mirror. His hair was a mess, sticking up all over the place, and he looked pale and awful. When the water was sufficiently boiling he stepped in and sighed. He could feel the sweat being washed off of him and the water soaking into his skin. He just stood under the stream of water for a long time, letting the warmth sooth his aching muscles. He noticed the ink on his hand running in the water, and he hastily removed it out of harms way, but then he remembered that it was written on the note as well. _Like you'll call him anyway, _he told himself, and scrubbed at it determinedly. It would be horrible if he showed up to work on Monday with what was clearly a number written on his skin. (God, though, that smile, and those _arms_. . . .) He quickly washed his hair, rinsed himself off, and stepped out.

He realised he hadn't brought any clean clothes into the bathroom with him. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out into the hall. When he entered his bedroom he nearly tripped over his boots. _Shit, _he thought angrily, and his back protested as he wearily returned them to his closet where they belonged. He noticed his wallet sitting on his bedside table and frowned at his own carelessness. He hadn't even thought to look for it. He opened it; sure enough, some cash was missing, about the amount to go from the club to his apartment. He suddenly wondered where the key to his apartment was. He hastily changed into a collared shirt and slacks and returned to the bathroom. He turned his pockets inside out, but it wasn't there. He went to check his front door; it had been locked. Maybe Alfred Jones had shoved it under the door? It wasn't there. He frowned, and decided there wasn't any point in looking for it more now. He was starving.

_Advantages of calling him: You could thank him for taking you home like a proper person. It doesn't have to be a request for a date or anything like that. God knows what you said when you were drunk. _He set the water boiling._ Disadvantages of calling him: He might think it was an effort to continue the . . . relationship, whatever kind of relationship it is. _He got out a mug and a teabag. _And why would that be a bad thing? Because you just met him, you have no idea who he is, he's not your type at all. Probably._ Arthur frowned at himself as he pulled the strawberry jam and crumpets out of the fridge. _You're being silly. Do you think he's ever read a good book in his life and appreciated it? I doubt it. _He strained the teabag carefully and then sat down at his small kitchen table. He thought about the fact that Alfred had taken him home and not stolen anything or taken advantage of him, as far as he could tell. (Maybe he had taken his key, but really, he'd probably just lost it.) _He can't be that bad a guy. He left you a note, and he keeps giving you his number. . . . _His hand twitched involuntarily and he glanced at it. The number was still there, faded slightly from the shower. No, he wouldn't call him, certainly not yet.

He finished breakfast and settled down with a book. The afternoon passed quickly, and before he knew it, it was time for tea. He made steak and kidney pie for dinner; he'd have leftovers for the next week if he needed them. On a whim, he made a custard pie for dessert. He read more after dinner, though he found himself distracted. He kept looking at the phone unintentionally, which irritated him. Finally he closed his book with a sigh, turned out the light, and went to bed.

* * *

_Sunday_

He woke to Sunday and found it just like every other Sunday. He ate breakfast, puttered about a bit on the computer, read the newspaper, ate some lunch. The number on his hand, now faded almost beyond visibility, gnawed at him. He worked on the embroidered cushion cover he was thinking of sending his mother for Christmas. He drank tea constantly, a guilty pleasure he could rarely indulge in, but it didn't help. At about three in the afternoon, Arthur decided to take his afternoon tea a little early. He found some scones he'd baked earlier in the week and got out a couple. He was about halfway through the first one when there was a knock on the door.

Arthur jumped, as did his heart. He hastily wiped his fingers and got to his feet. He opened the door without bothering to look through the peephole. _It could be anyone, it could be anyone, don't assume_.

The man standing there was wearing black leather gloves and an old bomber jacket that made him look older and his shoulders look broader, but there was no mistaking him. His eyes lit up when he saw Arthur, and he held up a key like it was all the explanation he needed. "Hey man, you never called so I just came by to check you hadn't died in your sleep or something. And give you your key back. I was going to put it under the door the other day but I totally forgot, haha." He grinned and handed the key to Arthur. Arthur took it, willing his heart to slow to a normal speed.

"Ah, thanks." A pause. "And thanks for making sure I got home alright. Sorry to have been a bother."

"No prob! Least I could do."

Arthur waited for him to leave, but he didn't. "Would you care to come in?" _Bad idea, Arthur. He's going to start assuming things. _

"Yeah, sure."

Arthur didn't move for a second too long, hoping he'd come up with an excuse to get rid of him, but he didn't (he didn't want a strange man in his flat, of course not, why would he want that?), so he stepped aside and Alfred Jones entered his flat. Alfred looked around curiously at the leather couch, the armchair in the corner, the walnut bookcase, and the mostly blank walls. Arthur knew his apartment was small, but it didn't bother him unless he had a guest over. Not that that happened very often.

"Ah!" Alfred said suddenly, his eyes alighting on something in Arthur's bookshelf. He strode over to it and plucked something off of the top shelf. "Sherlock Holmes. I used to love these books." He turned it over in his hand, then back again, and replaced it. He leaned down, looking closely at the other titles in the bookcase. "Huh, you've got the full Oxford English Dictionary."

"Yes," Arthur replied, not sure whether or not Alfred actually found that interesting. "It was a present from my parents when I went off to university."

Alfred nodded, reading the other titles in the bookcase. Arthur realised with a start that they might seem a bit strange from his perspective; most of the books were classical novels or histories of the United Kingdom and Ireland, but somewhere around the middle shelf these turned into accounts of King Arthur and Merlin, and then titles like _The Encyclopaedia of Strange Creatures of the British Isles _and _The Lady and the Unicorn: An Examination of the Unicorn in Art and Literature. _The bookcase ended quite abruptly with a series of world atlases and the dictionary.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Would you like something? I hope you don't mind, but I was just sitting down to have something to eat."

"Nah, I'm fine. Just went by McDonald's. Thanks though." Alfred straightened up and patted his stomach. "God, I'm stuffed."

"Still craving burgers from the other night?"

Alfred laughed and shook his head. "Arthur, I am _always _craving burgers."

Arthur flushed a little at being called by his first name. "R-right. Would you like to take a seat?" He gestured at the kitchen table.

"Sure, sure." Alfred pulled out the chair and plopped down in it.

Arthur sat down across from him and picked up the scone. He tried to eat very neatly, taking very small bites. He shouldn't have been worried; Alfred was examining his kitchen as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Arthur suddenly realised that his collared shirt and slacks were probably not what Alfred had been expecting after what he had worn the past two times they'd seen each other. He fidgeted, suddenly embarrassed. _You shouldn't dress like you're still 19, Arthur. Really._ He examined Alfred from the corners of his eyes. He looked different in the sunlight – more handsome, actually. It brought out the colour in his skin and eyes and hair. He looked healthy, like he was in the prime of life. He finished eating and took a sip of tea. He cleared his throat. "I take it you got home safely last night?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just took the cab back to the club and had a friend pick me up. No big deal."Arthur nodded and there was a brief silence. "Uh, hey, I was wondering," Alfred said suddenly, patting his hair unconsciously, "would you, uh, like to meet for coffee sometime? I mean, I understand if it's weird, but I mean –"

"Sure," Arthur said, interrupting him to spare him the rest of the awkward explanation. "To thank you for bringing me home," he added, lest he get the wrong idea.

Alfred smiled nervously. "Ha, okay, great. So, when are you free? I'm busy tomorrow, but does Tuesday at, say, 5:30 work?"

It was a bit of an odd time for coffee, Arthur supposed (didn't Americans always have "tea" in the morning?), but it didn't matter much to him. "Sure. Anywhere in particular you'd like?"

"Do you know the Dunkin' Donuts on 2nd by East 75th Street?"

"No, but I can find it."

"Ah, cool." Another smile, another silence. Arthur rose to place his dishes in the sink. He heard Alfred stand up as well. "I guess I'll see you then, then?"

Arthur leaned back against the counter, his heart fluttering away again. He nodded and tried to smile in a friendly way. "Sounds good."

"Right."

"Oh, hey," Arthur said uncomfortably. "The other night, when I was . . . intoxicated, I didn't say anything . . . improper, did I?"

Alfred looked surprised. "What, you don't remember?"

"Well, I mean, I remember most everything, of course," he said, flustered. "Just . . . I don't quite remember all the details after. . . ." He raised his left hand.

Alfred's face slowly broke into a smile. "Nah, you didn't say anything improper. It's all good." Arthur nodded; he found Alfred's grin slightly suspicious, but he didn't want to pursue it. He opened the door for Alfred, who left with a "See ya" and a wave. Arthur found himself waving back. He closed the door carefully and heard it click. He heart Alfred's footsteps fade away, and when they were gone he slowly released the doorknob. He looked at his apartment, studying everything, wondering what Alfred must have thought about it. He pressed his hands to his cheeks, which were still hot and flushed with embarrassment, maybe more than had been called for. _Goddammit, Arthur. Don't you dare let yourself fall for him. _He ran his fingers through his already untidy hair and went back to the kitchen to finish his cup of tea.

* * *

_Author's note: _I don't know a whole lot about New York, but according to Google maps there really is a Dunkin Donuts there. This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it. :)


	4. Coffee

_Chapter 4: Coffee_

* * *

Arthur was running late for their . . . well, at this point there wasn't much point in denying that it was a date. He had been detained at work and the subway had taken longer than he would have liked. Running was not something he would stoop too, but he walked quickly and every few minutes he would glance at his watch with a "tsk." He pushed the door open to the Dunkin Donuts at 5:44.

Alfred was already there, though he couldn't have been waiting long. He was sitting at a table in front of the window with a newspaper and a coffee, munching happily on a donut. He was wearing the bomber jacket again. Arthur walked up to him, slightly breathless. "Good afternoon. You don't read the newspaper in the morning?"

Alfred looked up and smiled, quickly swallowing his mouthful of donut. "Hey Arthur!" He gestured at the other chair. "You want a coffee or something? I was running late this morning so I didn't have a chance," he said, waving the newspaper.

"Ah, right. Uh, no thanks, I'm fine." He sat down and didn't know what to do with his hands. He realised he should probably get a scone or something. "Well, I'll –" He made to stand up again, but Alfred gestured him back down, shaking his head. He dropped the newspaper and stood up.

"What do you want? Donut?"

"Just a pastry, please. Your choice." He smiled at Alfred without thinking about it, and Alfred smiled back, a calmer, more genuine smile than usual. His gaze lingered at Arthur's eyes for a moment, and then he disappeared into the line.

Arthur was left looking at the newspaper. He tried to read the headlines upside down. It looked like Alfred had it open to the sports section. His gaze roved over to the half-eaten donut. _Glazed, with sprinkles,_ he noted. _Interesting_. He'd taken Alfred as more of a chocolate donut sort of person. He blushed. _Arthur, what does it matter whether it's a chocolate donut or not? Someone's preference of donut hardly says anything significant about their character. _Alfred was taking too long, so finally he gave up waiting patiently and picked up the newspaper. He flipped to the Artssection and was trying to find something worth reading when someone with a noticeably French accent said:

"Arthur, imagine meeting you here! What a surprise."

Arthur's shoulders stiffened automatically. A well-dressed man with a loose blond ponytail appeared in his field of vision. He put down the newspaper. "Hello, Francis."

"Still alone as ever, I see."

Arthur scowled and met his eyes. "Fuck off."

Alfred appeared behind Francis, carrying a donut and some kind of danish. He stopped and raised his eyebrows at Arthur. Arthur shook his head slightly, but Alfred didn't seem to get the hint.

"Work going well?" Francis asked with a smile.

"Smashingly," Arthur replied sarcastically.

Alfred bumped into Francis' elbow slightly, as if by accident. He dumped the food on the table and met Francis's eyes. "Oh, didn't see you there. I'm Alfred." He smiled and stuck out a hand.

Francis gave Arthur a quick glance and then looked back at Arthur. He returned the smile and took the offered hand. "Francis." He smirked. "I don't suppose you're here with Arthur on business."

"Uh, no," Alfred said, looking vaguely uncertain of what he was supposed to say.

"Ah, _well_ then," he said, turning back to Arthur with a predator-like grin. "Excuse my mistake, _mon ami _(my friend). I'll be leaving you. Oh, and –" He looked at Alfred. "Be careful; he's not as young as he looks. I don't suppose he's told you that he's 33?" Arthur glared at him and Alfred frowned. "Have fun, you two." He wiggled some fingers at Arthur in a sort of half-wave and left.

"Who was that?" Alfred asked as he retook his seat.

"Francis Bonnefoy." Arthur ripped his danish in half savagely.

"Where do you know him from?"

"Childhood, unfortunately." He chose half of the danish and continued to pick it apart, refusing to meet Alfred's eyes.

"Look, it doesn't bother me." Arthur looked up. "The age thing. I saw it on your driver's license when I paid for the cab anyway." He smiled at Arthur and leaned over the table. "Really. It's no biggie." He paused. "Do you want to know how old I am?" Arthur swallowed but didn't say anything. "I'm 24 – in July."

_And it's September at the moment. _He didn't laugh at the joke. He looked back down at the danish. His heart felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds. _He's only 23. Oh God. _He felt a hand on his and looked up again. Alfred's fingers were cool and he was smiling at him, but it was a slight smile. His gaze was earnest and straight-forward. "Arthur. I know we don't know a whole lot about each other, but I like you a lot."

"Thanks," Arthur said, not knowing what else to say.

"Do you like me at all?" Alfred was looking at him searchingly.

_You can't tell? _Arthur thought, genuinely confused about why Alfred was asking him this. Was he really so hard to read? No one had ever asked him that before; every other relationship he had entered into had been built on assumptions with the occasional verification of "I love you" or something similar. Arthur realised the situation was almost funny; here he was, assuming that Alfred was assuming things that he could hardly admit out loud.

"Yes," he said with a slight smile. "I like you."

Alfred grinned and squeezed his hand. "Awesome." He let go and bit into his donut, still smiling happily. For his part, Arthur felt slightly sick. _This isn't going to end well, _he found himself thinking. _None of your relationships have worked out well. None of them. And this seems even less likely to succeed than the rest. You're going to get hurt, and he's going to get hurt, and it's going to be your fault. _He looked at Alfred, happily gulping down terrible coffee, sprinkles stuck to his chin. _You don't deserve him. _(And maybe you deserve happiness at all, was the thought that lurked in the back of his mind.)

"So how was work, really?"

Arthur sighed. "It was fine. Just the usual, you know."

"No fun, yeah. What would your job be if you could just choose?"

Arthur opened his mouth, but closed it again. He thought for a moment. What did he really want to do? He hadn't thought about that for a long, long time. "Read books, I guess," he said finally. "That is, be an English professor or something," he quickly added, blushing.

Alfred didn't bat an eyelash. "Cool. I'd love to be a firefighter, but no luck." He grinned.

Arthur automatically quirked an eyebrow, but then he realised that Alfred might actually be serious. It was hard to tell. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Thanks for not laughing." He laughed. "Not a good idea for someone with my attention span, I know, but can you imagine any job more rewarding?"

"I guess not," Arthur said, surprised that he could actually see Alfred's point.

"It never worked out, though. How come you never ended up being a professor or whatever?"

"I don't know. Being a teacher just never seemed like a good idea, and I didn't want to go to graduate school to study literature."

"Why not?"

There was such honest interest in Alfred's eyes, Arthur felt he had to give him an honest answer. He contemplated what to say. "It was taking too long," he said finally. He looked at Alfred and gave him a slight smile. "I imagine you know what it's like, being impatient to grow up."

Alfred chuckled. "You have no idea."

Arthur tried to hide a true smile. "Oh, I think I do." Alfred looked at him curiously, but he didn't elaborate. "Why did you never become a firefighter?"

"Well, in high school I had a bunch of friends who were really into film and music. We all had these crazy ideas about going into the business, and I ended up going to film school." He saw Arthur's surprised look and his smile became sardonic. "Yeah, and over here too, when I was living near LA to begin with. I figured out that I had no future in film about half way through, but I just loved it too much over here to quit."

"What appealed to you about film?" Arthur asked. The words felt as though they had been pulled from him. All of these little things that didn't fit with his initial impression of Alfred; these were the important things.

"It just feels really cool to create something like that." Arthur nodded, the danish just crumbs on a napkin. The donuts were long gone. Alfred sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "You never gave me your number."

Arthur realised this was true and he flushed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "Oh, right. Here –" He cast about in his pockets, found a pen, and scribbled out his phone number on a clean napkin.

"Thanks," Alfred said with a smile. His fingers brushed Arthur's as he took it. He stuffed it into an inside pocket in his jacket. Arthur glanced at his watch.

"I should be going."

"Okay. Can I take you out to dinner on Friday? My treat."

"No need for that," Arthur said, waving his hand. "I'll pay for myself. But that would be nice. What kind of food do you like?"

"I'm fine with whatever."

Arthur thought for a moment. He hadn't eaten out in ages. "Do you like Indian food? I think there's a nice Indian restaurant near here."

"Yeah, sure. You can call me to tell me were it is." Alfred grinned. "So, I'll pick you up at like, 7?" Arthur stared at him for a moment, face blank. "I do know where you live, remember?"

"Right," Arthur said. "Right. That sounds good."

"Okay, see ya." He stood up, as did Arthur.

"Yes. Goodbye."

They ended up walking out together, which made Arthur feel very awkward. Alfred held the door open for him and gave him a wave before (thankfully) walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Arthur waved back before determinedly _not _looking back, though he couldn't help a backwards glance over his shoulder as he reached the street corner. Did Alfred own a car? He supposed he had to. But he didn't see any sign of it; Alfred was gone.


	5. Dinner

_Chapter 5: Dinner_

_Author's note: _So, since the last chapter was so short, this one's a monster. -.-' I considered splitting it up into two, but it's not meant to be, so I just left it. Hope you don't mind.

* * *

It was Wednesday night and Arthur was in the midst of a romance novel. The phone rang, and his head was still full of whispered questions in the moonlight and despaired lovers when he said, "Hello?"

"Hey, Arthur, it's me! I'm trying to cook lasagne noodles and the recipe says to boil them in 'lightly salted water.' How lightly do you think 'lightly salted' is?"

It took Arthur a second to process what he had just heard. "Alfred?" he said dumbly.

"Yeah?"

"Uh –" To be honest, Arthur had never encountered an instruction like that in his (admittedly limited) experience with cooking, but he felt he had to say something. "I'm sure a teaspoon would be adequate."

"Okay, awesome. Thanks." There was a click and the dial tone sounded in Arthur's ear. He slowly set the phone down, not exactly sure what had just happened. He decided it wasn't worth dwelling on and returned to his book. He had read three pages before he realised that Alfred had never mentioned how much water he was boiling.

* * *

On Thursday, Arthur still hadn't called Alfred to tell him where the restaurant was. When he got home from work, he fished Alfred's number out of the back of the drawer he had shoved it into and put it on the counter. He looked at it, and decided that he needed to check his email. After wasting an hour on the computer, he made himself some dinner. He washed the dishes and put them away. The piece of paper was still waiting expectantly on the counter. He looked at it for a moment, picked it up, picked up the phone, and sat down in his armchair.

He dialled the number very, very carefully, and it began to ring. He drummed his fingers on the side of the armchair. It stopped ringing and his fingers stilled. "Hello?" said a male voice that was definitely _not _Alfred's.

"Uh, wrong number," he said quickly and ended the call. He stared at the phone for a moment. _Damn. He probably gave you his home phone, not his cell, and that was one of his friends or something. Actually, that was probably his roommate. He's barely out of university. I doubt he can afford to live on his own. It's not like he would be cheating on you already. _He set the phone and realised he was extremely tense. He forced himself to relax and almost felt like laughing. _I knew something like this would happen. _He pressed a hand to his temple._ You can just tell him where the restaurant is when he picks you up. Tomorrow_.

* * *

Friday night came, and Arthur didn't know what to wear. He finally decided on a collared shirt and slacks with a jacket, but no tie. He drank tea to calm himself until 7:03, when Alfred showed up - practically on time. Arthur was slightly impressed.

"Hey!" said Alfred when Arthur opened the door. He was grinning like crazy and wearing the same jacket and black leather gloves. They should have clashed with the white collared shirt and jeans, but they didn't. In fact, it no longer seemed strange to Arthur to see him out of the club. There was no longer club-Alfred and other-Alfred; there was just Alfred.

"Er, hi." He let Alfred inside as he grabbed his jacket and pulled it over his own ensemble. "Sorry I never got hold of you. I'll just tell you how to get to the restaurant as we go."

"Yeah, sure." Arthur closed the door behind them and locked it. Alfred waited patiently, his blue eyes never leaving Arthur. "How was work?" he asked when Arthur turned around.

"Fine," Arthur said automatically. "You?"

"We had some crazy kid come in and buy like 20 copies of a new release of Batman. Most exciting thing that's happened all week." He grinned, but Arthur didn't respond. "Oh, and it really sucks you don't watch football, because the game last night was _awesome._" Alfred began to babble about touchdowns and things that Arthur honestly didn't care about. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but they had hardly reached the end of the hall before he had completely tuned Alfred out. Thus it was something of a shock to him when Alfred's hand bumped against his as if by accident, and he nearly stumbled when Alfred's fingers slid neatly around his own. He suddenly found it hard to breath. Alfred just kept talking. Arthur stared straight ahead, ramrod straight. _It's just holding hands. It's a normal thing to do. _

_Why are you acting like you've never done this before? _

Alfred made a joke and Arthur forced himself to glance at him and smile. Alfred seemed completely relaxed, as if this were something he did every day. Arthur had not quite realised how long it had been since he had freely engaged in slight physical contact. When was the last time he had held hands with someone? _Probably high school, _he thought with a start.

They heard a footstep from somewhere ahead of them and Alfred let go. Arthur quickly increased the distance between them and tried to will his blush away as they passed the person in the hall. They were almost at the exit, so Alfred didn't take his hand again. Arthur wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed about that.

They stepped outside. The cool night air cleared Arthur's head and he felt he could breathe freely again. Alfred stopped talking and didn't press him for conversation, which he appreciated. "I'm over here," Alfred said, jerking his thumb to the left. Arthur nodded and followed him. Alfred led him to a red Ford Mustang and unlocked it with a beep. He walked to the driver's door but paused when he saw Arthur still standing on the sidewalk.

Arthur's eyebrows had gone up. "Nice car."

"Thanks! One of the new California Specials." He ran a hand lovingly along its roof. "My baby."

Arthur had to smile a little. "Worth the expense?"

Alfred laughed. "_Oh _yeah."

Arthur stepped in and Alfred started it up, revving it just a little. He winked at Arthur and Arthur smiled at the dashboard. _Just like a kid with a new toy. _Alfred manoeuvred it out of the narrow space and shot out into traffic.

Alfred paired somewhat reckless driving with very quick reflexes. Arthur wasn't sure whether or not he felt safe. The sudden starts and stops hurt his neck and his hands from gripping the seat so tightly, but Alfred changed lanes smoothly and seemed able to time everything just right. They made it safely to the restaurant with Arthur's guidance, though it took Alfred a second to find a place to park. They got out and walked inside. Alfred held the door for him, and he almost didn't notice.

"Two?" the waiter asked.

"Yup," Alfred said with a nod, and Arthur realised with a start that _this was a real date. _The waiter led them to a table. Alfred went first, and Arthur gazed at the back of his head. _God, he's really gorgeous. _He swallowed. _I actually want this. I want this to work out. _Alfred plopped down in his chair and began scanning the menu. Arthur sat down across from him and picked up the menu without seeing it.

"Know what you want yet?" Alfred asked, setting down his menu.

"The house curry," Arthur replied automatically, setting his down as well. It was his default. "You?"

"Tandori chicken, definitely, and as many samosas as we can get," Alfred said happily. "And a  
Coke."

"You're ordering Coca-Cola? This is a nice restaurant!" Arthur hissed.

"Yeah, why not? Everyone serves Coke."

"Tsk," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. He was pretty sure that Alfred was just acting dense, but it was hard to tell.

Alfred ignored the noise and leaned in towards Arthur ever so slightly. "So tell me, what's your family like?"

Arthur blinked. "My family?" He couldn't see any reason why this would interest Alfred. "Well, I have three older brothers."

"Really? I'm jealous. I'm an only child."

"You shouldn't be," Arthur said dryly. "And, really? You seem like you would have lots of siblings."

"Because I'm so loud, right?" Alfred grinned playfully. "Nah, it's just me."

The waiter came. Alfred sat up straight and looked up at the waiter as he ordered, the angle of his head drawing attention to his jawline. Arthur noticed that his collar was slightly turned up on one side. His fingers itched with the urge to fix it, but he didn't dare. Come to think of it, his bangs were out of place as well. When the waiter turned to Arthur, he had to drag his eyes away from Alfred and it took him a painful second to remember what he was going to order. When the waiter was gone, Alfred leaned in close again. "So, tell me about your brothers."

"Not much to tell, really." Arthur shrugged. "They all still live in the UK. One of them moved to Northern Ireland a few years ago, so now none of them actually still live in England. My parents wish we would have stayed closer to home."

"Do you see them often?"

"Not really. At this point it's been about five years since I've seen them all, I guess. I go back sometimes for Christmas, but it's expensive."

"I'm sorry. Are you close?"

Arthur's mouth tightened. "No. I wouldn't say that."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does. Do your parents still live in California?"

"Yeah. I go back once a year for Christmas or Thanksgiving."

Arthur nodded. "I see. That must be nice."

"Yeah, it is." The food came and Alfred lost his ability to talk distinctly. He talked around his food, mumbling things about the weather on the coast and all the trips he wanted to take. Arthur tried to be annoyed that he apparently didn't have any manners, but it was difficult to remember to stay annoyed for long. The way Alfred looked at Arthur as he spoke made him feel like Alfred wasn't talking to just to hear himself talk; he was talking because he wanted Arthur to hear everything he was saying. Arthur found that he did indeed want to hear what Alfred was saying, and as he slowly relaxed he began to contribute the conversation. Alfred would chew vigorously while Arthur talked, contemplate what he was saying, and then swallow quickly and gulp some soda before quickly replying. He gestured expansively when he talked – so expansively, in fact, that at one point he managed to drop a samosa in his water glass.

Alfred's shocked expression and the little "plop" of the samosa hitting the water startled a laugh out of Arthur. Alfred immediately grinned and began laughing as well. This made Arthur laugh even harder, and soon he was laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. Alfred fished the samosa out of the water and lay it down carefully on the side of his plate while Arthur recovered. He wiped his eyes, gasping for breath, and saw that Alfred poking at it tentatively with a fork.

"If it was alive to begin with, I think it's safely drowned now," Arthur told him, his voice strangled.

"Yup, you're right. It's dead." He set his fork down decisively with a mock-serious expression.

Arthur grinned, and he realised that for once in a long time, he was completely and utterly relaxed.

When they were finished and the waiter brought the check, Arthur dived for it but Alfred already had a hand on it. They fought for it, but Alfred won with some vague explanation about still owing Arthur from the night he took Arthur home. Arthur sat back with a huff because they both knew perfectly well that Alfred wouldn't have had to pay for the taxi back to the club if it hadn't been for Arthur to begin with, but he didn't protest too much.

They put on their coats and headed towards the car park. "Oh," Arthur said suddenly.

"What is it?" Alfred looked at him curiously.

"Oh, nothing, I just realised I still don't have my coat that I was wearing that night at the club." Alfred tucked his hands firmly in his pockets and avoided Alfred's gaze. "It must have been left there when . . . we left."

"When I took you home, you mean?"

"Yeah," Arthur said awkwardly.

"We can stop by and pick it up now, if you want. You don't have a car of your own, right?"

"Right. But no, it's fine, I can get it later. This coat is warmer anyway."

"No, really, it'll take like five minutes. It's not that far from here."

"Still, it's out of your way."

"Nah, come on. It's my fault you left it there anyway."

Arthur grumbled a little, but not too much. _After all, the longer we can put off the awkward first date goodbye, the better, _he thought. Plus Alfred's car was warm. (And maybe spending another few minutes with Alfred wouldn't be such a bad thing. . . .)

Alfred started up the car and pulled onto the street. They drove for a few moments in silence while Arthur tried to think of the most casual way to frame his question. He finally decided to just go for it. "Alfred, do you have a roommate?"

Alfred glanced at him. "Yeah, I've got three, actually. We share a house about half an hour from here. Why?"

"Well, er, I called you the other day and someone else answered."

"What! You _called?_" He cursed under his breath. "Kiku is normally really good about telling me when someone calls. Sorry."

"No, no, it was nothing. I didn't really need to talk to you, I didn't even mention your name or anything. I just – wanted to know how the lasagne turned out." _Damn, that sounds much more lame than the real reason._ Alfred mentally kicked himself. "So, uh, who's Kiku?"

"Oh, yeah, the lasagne turned out great! Thanks for your help. Ivan said it was kinda salty, but he has like no sense of taste." Arthur winced. He opened his mouth to ask who Ivan was, but Alfred just kept talking. "Kiku's this Japanese guy. He just showed up one day when I was at my little apartment looking for a roommate, so when I decided to move out he just came with me. He's kinda quiet and stuff, and a total techno geek. I always leave my cell phone lying and it drives him crazy. He usually answers it if I don't have it with me." Alfred paused, thinking. Finally he said, "I think you'd like him."

"I'd like to meet him."

"Yeah. Sometime I'll introduce you."

They came into view of the club and Alfred parked in the dinky little car park associated with it. Arthur stepped out into the chill night air and let out a long breath. It fogged up the air in front of him and he shivered slightly. They entered the crowded club and Arthur fought his way to the front of the line, Alfred following close behind. Arthur was trying to make himself understood over the music and a woman was just offering to take Alfred's jacket when there was the crash of smashed glass from the direction of the bar. Alfred's head came up.

"This isn't a gay bar! Take your business elsewhere, faggot, and serve me my damn drink!"

Arthur's head whipped around. "No thanks," Alfred muttered to the lady, and moved closer to Arthur. Arthur had already started moving towards the bar, his mouth so tight his lips had gone white.

The bartender was standing across the counter from a small man with reddish-brown hair, whose face had gone as white as the bartender's had gone red. He was curled up in a ball on his stool and seemed to be stuttering out something in a language that might have been Italian. The bartender's fingers were pressed to his lips and he seemed to be in shock. They were both staring at a man sitting several seats down from them, whose glass lay shattered on the opposite counter among the bottles that were used to mix drinks.

Arthur grabbed the man by the back of his collar, flipped him around, and pressed his head against the counter. "_Apologise, _you fucking tosser," Arthur spat, "though I doubt you're capable of even that. What did they even do? Kiss? Like it matters."

The man glared at him. "You one too?" He started to tug at Arthur's arm. "G'off me."

Arthur pressed him into the counter harder. "The whole point," he hissed, "is that no one _fucking cares._"

"Get your hands off me!" The man spat at Arthur and it hit his cheek with a wet sound. Arthur's eyebrows raised. He wiped it off with a quick movement and then threw his arm back, fully intending to break the drunk's nose.

He felt a hand grip his arm and another loop his around his chest. "Awwlright, that's enough Artie," Alfred's voice said loudly by his ear. Arthur fought him for a moment, but then he realised what was happening and let Alfred drag him off of the man. Alfred seemed quite prepared to drag him all the way out the door, but Arthur quickly twisted out of his grasp. Alfred let him. Arthur glared at him, but Alfred just looked back at him.

The bartender had placed a very large hand on the drunk's shoulder. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask to leave if you continue to disturb the peace," he was saying in a voice that implied very sharp steel.

"Come on, let's go," Alfred murmured, putting a hand on his arm. "He's got it under control."

"Fine," Arthur snapped, breaking out of his grasp. He flushed; a lot of people were staring. He left the club as quickly as possible, not even glancing back to see if Alfred was behind him until they were outside. The cold air hit him suddenly, but he ignored it.

"Hey," Alfred said as Arthur just kept walking. He rounded the corner of the building and slowed. There was no one here, just the car park and a dumpster. _What a dump. _"Hey," Alfred said again as he drew even with Arthur. His voice was gentle this time.

Arthur punched the wall and regretted it. He hissed and held his hand tightly, leaning his forehead agains the bricks. His eyes prickled with angry tears. "Bloody prat. I don't care if he was drunk, you should have let me hit him."

"I wanted to. Jeez, Arthur, you've got guts." Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. "I was just going to give him a talking to. I wish I'd been brave enough to lay a hand on him."

"It would have just made things worse."

"Yeah, but he would have deserved it."

"Tsk. You bloody Americans. You're such hypocrites." He turned around to glare at Alfred. "You say your country is founded on _equality, _but it's no better than anywhere else! If you're going to be so goddamn arrogant, you should at least give yourselves reason to be. And don't give me that crap about there being people like that everywhere, because not everyone is like that, and there is no reason for people like that to exist."

Alfred looked sad and apologetic, like Arthur was attacking him personally. "It's all an ideal. We're trying, we'll get there; we're just not there yet."

"Yeah, well, you should try a little harder and not give false promises." He was breathing hard. The cold air hurt his lungs. Alfred just looked back. _We try, _his eyes said. _We try so hard. I'm sorry._ Arthur didn't like to see the pain that was there. He looked away and let out a long shuddering breath. "Why does everything have to be such a struggle?"

Alfred put a gloved hand on the cold brick wall behind him, but Arthur didn't feel trapped. He just found it hard to keep talking. He turned to look at Alfred, but he didn't meet his eyes. They were close enough that Alfred's glasses fogged up with each of Arthur's breaths. It was as if his glasses were the thing breathing as the lenses became cloudy, then mostly cleared, then became cloudy again. "Only the important things are struggles," Alfred said quietly. He was looking at him over the top of the frames, but Arthur still didn't meet his eyes, just watched the lenses of his glasses fog and clear. Alfred leaned closer, a deft, smooth movement of his neck and shoulders, and pressed his lips over Arthur's.

His lips were warm, and the warm breath from his nose brought feeling back into Arthur's cheek, as if he were thawing him. Alfred's eyes were closed and Arthur closed his own obligingly. Their lips were their only point of contact, and it made the sensation all the more poignant. Arthur felt a slight touch on the back of his head – Alfred's gloved fingers. A moment passed, and Alfred slipped his palm around the back of his head, holding him there gently. Arthur wanted to tangle his fingers in his hair, wanted to touch him so badly, but he didn't dare. Alfred released him, pulled back. Arthur looked steadily back into his eyes. The cold caught up to him and he shivered violently, ending the moment.

Alfred took his hand away from the wall. "D'you want my jacket?" His voice was shaky.

"No, we should just go back inside and get mine."

"Right."

They went back inside and Arthur got his jacket as quickly as possible. He glanced over at the bar. The man with the reddish-brown hair was gone, but so was the drunk. The bartender was concentrating on drying a glass with a cloth very thoroughly.

They left. Alfred drove them back to Arthur's place without saying a word, and Arthur didn't mind the silence at all. Alfred pulled up to the curb and got out. He walked Arthur to the door to the apartment complex and they both paused. "You want to come up for some tea or something?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, sure."

Arthur was emotionally exhausted, but it felt like physical exhaustion and he had to drag himself up the stairs. He unlocked the door with the ease of long practice, his fingers doing it without any conscious thought on his part. He gestured Alfred towards the kitchen table while he set about making two cups of tea. It didn't take long.

They sipped in silence for several moments, the warmth leeching into their fingers and thawing their hands. The exhaustion clouded Arthur's mind, and if he hadn't felt raw it would have been pleasant.

Alfred looked at him and Arthur looked back, unblinking. He was too tired to even be embarrassed as they stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Alfred spoke. "What do you think about coming over to my house next weekend?"

"I would like that."

"Okay." Alfred finished his cup of tea and left. He was careful not to touch Arthur, as if he were afraid he had done something wrong. Arthur was too tired to say or do anything to reassure him. He closed the door behind him. He fell into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. He dreamt of floating in a warm place. He could see nothing, but he could feel Alfred's lips pressed gently against his own.

* * *

_Author's note: _Btw, last time we ever go back to the club. I promise.


	6. Vivid and in Your Prime

_Chapter 6: Vivid and in Your Prime_

_Author's note: _There's a song in this one, though I used all the lyrics this time: "These Things Take Time," by the Smiths. (It took me a while to find just the right one. ;) )

* * *

Alfred called Arthur every night that week with some excuse or another. At first they would talk for only a few minutes, but soon they were talking regularly for over an hour. Arthur adjusted the time he ate dinner so that he would never be eating when Alfred called. Sometimes he cooked while they talked and he would forget ingredients or leave things in the oven for too long, but he never really minded. The food seemed to taste better when he had just gotten off the phone with Alfred.

Finally it was Saturday. It turned out that getting to Alfred's house was actually relatively difficult without a car. Alfred had offered to pick him up, but Arthur had insisted that that would be silly. After pouring over maps for far too long, he finally figured out which subway stop would get him closest and which route would be the most pleasant for walking. He would have to walk a fair distance, so he left a bit early. The subway ride was not long and he got off at the right stop.

The sun was shining and he took a deep breath of the crisp air. His cheeks and nose quickly became flushed from the chill, but with his black trench coat and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, it was actually pleasant outside. Despite the length of the walk, he couldn't really resent it. He could never resent weather that involved bright sunlight.

Nervousness slowly crept up on him as he turned onto the street that Alfred's house was on. When he found the right one, he paused a moment. It was in a nice place, though small. He took a deep breath and walked up the short walkway. _It doesn't matter if one of his roommates answers the door, _he told himself sternly as he walked up the steps. _It's fine. _He found the doorbell and rang it. He heard heavy footsteps, as though someone were bounding down a staircase, a few more footsteps, and then the door shot open. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding; it was Alfred.

"Arthur!" he cried, grinning, and pulled him into a tight hug. Arthur felt like he was suffocating, but before he could protest Alfred let go. "Come on in! How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you," Arthur said, stepping inside and looking away to hide the pink tinge on his cheeks. He loosened his scarf while Alfred closed the door behind him.

"You can just dump your coat by the door, don't worry about it," he said, walking half backwards, half sideways as he talked. "You want something to drink? Coffee?"

"Tea, thanks – if you have any," he added.

"Yeah, yeah, Yao drinks tons of the stuff, I'm sure we have some. Want a kind in particular?" He disappeared around a corner while Arthur was still taking off his shoes and coat. He folded his coat neatly and set it by the door before heading in the direction that Alfred had gone.

"Black, please, if you have any." _What a sad day when I have to add "If you have any" to the end of a sentence about tea twice in one day._

The kitchen was shiny and new, though the effect was ruined somewhat by the dirty plates and bowls that cluttered the counters. Alfred was making a pot of what appeared to be instant coffee. "You have a nice place," Arthur said.

"Thanks. I can't quite get over how much it costs. It's so _small._"

"It is New York."

"Well yeah, but jeez!" He shook his head. "Anyway, Yao and Ivan are off at a concert or something, and I don't know where Kiku is." Alfred finished making the coffee and poured himself a giant mug-full. He handed Arthur a cup of lightly coloured water with a rather sad looking teabag floating in it, anchored only by the small white string. "Come on, I'll show you around a little."

Arthur followed him with the teacup in hand. Alfred gestured at the stairs. "There really isn't a whole lot to see. Up there is just the bedrooms. Bathroom's over that way." He gestured vaguely to their right. "And this is the living room." There was a slight step from the entrance way into the living room. It was filled with comfortable-looking couches and armchairs, and a flat-screen TV dominated one wall. Bookshelves were mostly filled with what looked like DVDs and video games. "Hey, let's play a game or something. I've got this awesome vintage version of Chutes and Ladders." He set down his coffee on a crowded coffee table and began rummaging through the lower shelf of a cabinet. Arthur wandered over to the bookshelf nearest him and began to examine its contents.

The three shelves at eye-level were stuffed with CDs. They were mostly bands he recognised as being American. They spanned most genres he had heard of, though Rock n' Roll dominated. They seemed to be in no particular order at all, and though most were shelved like books, some were stacked one on top of another and leaned precariously. He made a small "tsk" noise; no one would be able to find anything in such a mess.

As he read the titles, he realised that some of them were British. Actually, quite a few of them were. The full set of Beatles albums (though scattered throughout the shelves) were a given, as were the Rolling Stones, but lesser-known bands he recognised from his youth were not. There was a clattering of game pieces from Alfred's direction and a triumphant, "Found it!" He heard Alfred pull himself to his feet and then dump the box somewhere. "Whatchya looking at?" Arthur turned around just as Alfred stopped by his left shoulder, and he suddenly found it harder to breathe. "Oh, yeah, my CD collection. It's kinda small because I left a lot of them back home when I moved out here. See anything you like?"

"No, no, I was just, uh – I see you found it."

"Yeah. Wanna just sit on the floor?"

"Sure." He followed Alfred over to a clear spot on the carpet where he was began setting up the game. "Oh," he said, recognising it. "Snakes and ladders. I played this all the time with I was little."

Alfred looked up at him, smiling. "Chutes and Ladders. Yeah, me too. One of my favourite games."

"Snakes and Ladders."

Alfred flipped the box over. "No, Chutes and Ladders."

Arthur frowned. "Well, my copy is called Snakes and Ladders."

"What, like a novelty edition or something?" Alfred rolled the die for first turn and handed it to Arthur.

"No. That was what it was always called." Arthur rolled the die. He got a two. Alfred went first. Arthur decided to change the subject. "So tell me about your other roommates. You mentioned Kiku, but not the others."

"Well. . . ." Alfred chewed his lip. "Yao's kinda . . . weird. I don't know, he's got a hot temper sometimes, but sometimes he just isn't bothered by _anything. _He really likes food and drinks tea constantly, but I swear he never works out and is still super skinny. Ivan's mostly quiet and he looks friendly, but don't let it fool you." Alfred gave him a serious look. "I swear, that guy's going to murder someone some day." Arthur gave him a disbelieving look, but he couldn't help shivering a little. Alfred looked dead serious. "And I already told you about Kiku. He loves technology and computers and stuff. He's always making things and he's a really good cook. Do you cook much?"

Arthur stopped in the middle of moving his piece, refusing to meet Alfred's eyes. "Uh," he said. "Yeah, I do."

"What kind of stuff do you cook?"

"Uh. Meat pies, fish and chips, bangers and mash, you know."

"So, totally standard British stuff."

"Well, yeah," said Arthur, a little miffed. He finished his turn. "It's what I grew up with."

"Huh. You know, I don't think I've ever had British food before."

"Oh, I'm sure you have," he said condescendingly. "We did colonise the United States, you know."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I mean, we both have french fries." (Arthur bit his tongue to keep from crying out, "Chips! They aren't French!") There was a moment of silence as Alfred rolled the die. "You should cook something the next time I come over."

"Heh, yeah," said Arthur with a strained smile, keenly reminded of previous unsuspecting acquaintances and friends. _Maybe he'll like your cooking. You never know. _

Arthur got set back about twenty spaces. Alfred took his turn and cried out, "I won!" as if it were a great accomplishment.

"It's just a game of chance," Arthur told him crossly as they began to put it away.

"Yeah, but I won." Alfred grinned and put the lid on the box decisively. "How about some music?" Arthur shrugged and Alfred seemed to take it as a yes. He uncrossed his legs and walked over to his collection of CDs. He came back with an armful of jewel cases and dumped them on the empty space in front of Arthur. He sat back down and began to sort through them. Arthur watched for a moment and then picked up one near him. "Lady Gaga," it said in large letters. It took him a moment to find the name of the album: _The Fame. _He put it down and picked up another. "Coldplay - Parachutes," it said.

"Huh," said Arthur. "This is a British band."

Alfred leaned over to see what he was looking at. He put his hand on the case and angled it towards him, brushing against Arthur's fingers as he did so. "Really? I didn't know that."

Arthur blinked but didn't relinquish his grip. "You didn't?"

"Nope. They're pretty popular over here." Alfred let go. "Man, you guys really do have all the good bands, huh?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd say _that,_" Arthur said, preening a little and setting down the case.

"I mean, I'm not saying that we're doing so badly ourselves. You've got the Beatles, Pink Floyd, the Rolling Stones, the Who, U2, Radiohead –"

"Suede, Blur –" Alfred looked at him blankly. "You haven't heard of them?" Alfred shook his head and Arthur bit his lip, trying to think of how to explain. "They're both from the 90s, alternative Britpop. I guess you wouldn't really get that over here."

Alfred just shrugged. "I was thinking of, like, Led Zeppelin, Queen, the Police. Anyway, we've got fucking Elvis Presley! The King! And Nirvana, and Guns N' Roses, and the Pixies, and Prince, and Madonna, and Michael Jackson, and Bob Dylan, and Eminem, and Pearl Jam! And the Doors! And _Jimi Hendrix!" _

"Tsk." Arthur leaned towards him without thinking about it. "But you have to admit that we started most of the major musical movements in the United States. The British Invasion is the most obvious example, of course, but it's not the only one."

Alfred set down the jewel case he was holding and leaned in a little too. "Nah, you guys just gave us a little push in the right direction. Since then we've been doing fine."

"But you admit you needed our help."

Alfred grinned. "Of course not," he said, and darted forward to press his lips against Arthur's.

Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed, before he remembered that it was alright to relax and close his eyes. Alfred gently put a hand on his knee, steading himself, and leaned in a little farther. Arthur automatically put a hand on the side of Alfred's neck and let his thumb rest on his jawline, tracing the faint stubble that was shaved almost smooth. He moved his hand to the back of his neck and buried his fingers into his hair as Alfred deepened the kiss. They drew apart, both panting just a little. Alfred smiled, smoothly took off his glasses, and leaned in again.

The whole thing seemed surreal. Arthur felt like he was a teenager again, kissing clumsily on the living room floor while his parents were out of the house – and yet Alfred's kisses were not the kisses of a teenager at all. He could feel that Alfred _wanted _him, and that strengthened his own desire and made him forget all about their age difference and his probable greater experience. He ran his hands down Alfred's back and nipped at his ear, making Alfred sigh. He leaned in with the intention of taking control of the situation, but Alfred got a hand to the back of his head and kissed him fiercely. When they parted again, Alfred put a hand along side Arthur's face and held him there, just looking for a moment. Arthur was flushed, and he could see a slight pink tinge to Alfred's cheeks as well. It made him bold, and he stared back at Alfred without blinking. It was strange seeing Alfred without his glasses. His eyelashes made fine shadows on his face that he hadn't noticed before, and his eyes seemed a more vibrant blue.

"How bad is your eyesight?" he asked. Alfred drew his hand away and Arthur felt disappointment tug at the corners of his mouth. _Damn. Ruined it again. _But then CD cases clattered as Alfred pushed them out of the way. He shifted so that he was sitting beside Arthur but still facing him. He rested a hand on the side of Arthur's leg, but carefully, as if asking quietly, "Is this ok?"

"It's pretty bad when I'm far away from stuff, but this close it makes no difference." He leaned in so that their noses touched and grinned. "Up this close everything's kinda blurry no matter what." And he quickly kissed Arthur on the mouth.

Arthur pushed Alfred away, annoyed because the kiss had surprised him so much. "Tsk," was all he could manage to say.

Alfred laughed. "Don't like surprises?"

Arthur sighed. "No, not really. Sorry, I didn't mind that much."

"It's fine."

Arthur saw an album by The Smiths on the floor beside him. He picked it up. "Huh, you listen to them?"

"Yeah, of course." Alfred grinned. "They're awesome."

"They used to be one of my favourites."

"Good choice. Wanna put them on?"

Arthur shrugged. "Sure." To his confusion, Alfred left the CD on the ground and disappeared into another room. He returned with an iPod and put it into place in a pair of iPod speakers on the desk in the corner of the room.

"Why do you have all the CDs, then?" Arthur asked, keenly feeling the differences between their lives. He had a CD player at home and it served him perfectly well.

"Eh," said Alfred, adjusting the placement of the iPod and scrolling through the artists, "I just like having them. I did used to have a CD player, but this is just so much easier and more compact. Now I mostly use the CDs in the car." He straightened up and gave Arthur a hand, pulling him to his feet. The song started playing. Arthur didn't recognise it immediately, but it was familiar and soothing. "I could hook the iPod up to my car, I know, but I like being able to flip easily through the tracks, and otherwise they'd never get any use." He smiled charmingly at Arthur and led him to the couch.

_Mine eyes have seen the glory of the sacred wunderkind _

_You took me behind a dis-used railway line _

_And said "I know a place where we can go _

_Where we are not known" _

_And then you gave me something that I won't forget too soon _

_But I can't believe that you'd ever care _

_And this is why you will never care _

_But these things take time _

_I know that I'm _

_The most inept _

_That ever stepped_

Alfred snuggled up against him and nuzzled his neck innocently. Arthur smiled; even his hair smelled like coffee. He just sat, letting thrills run through him as Alfred played with the buttons on his shirt and trailed fingers down his sides. He could tell that Alfred was exploring him, slowly but thoroughly. Alfred had a strange moral code, he decided. He clearly wouldn't unbutton Arthur's shirt without permission, but he slipped his hand under his shirt and began to run his fingers along his back and chest without the slightest hesitation. Arthur's breath quickened but he slowed it carefully. When Alfred kissed him sweetly, he finally responded, looping a hand lazily around his neck and running the other along his hip and down the line of his leg. Alfred laughed softly into the crook of his neck and pulled him closer.

_I'm spellbound, oh . . . but a woman divides _

_And the hills are alive with celibate cries _

_But you know where you came from, you know where _

_You're going and you know where you belong _

_You said I was ill, and you were not wrong _

_But I can't believe that you'd ever care _

_And so, you will never care _

_But these things take time _

_And I know that I'm _

_The most inept _

_That ever stepped_

Alfred continued to touch him lightly, and Arthur found that he had to pay attention to make sure that he subtly indicated what he enjoyed. He found Alfred's slow pace endearing, but the need for concentration was tiring, and Alfred seemed to think that Arthur _wanted _him to barely touch him. In that, he was utterly wrong, and Arthur decided tell him so and to flaunt his experience a little through confidence. He swung a leg across Alfred's lap, straddling him, and slid forward. They fit against each other neatly. He was looking down on Alfred for once, and Alfred was grinning. He put both hands on Arthur's lower back and pulled him against his chest as Arthur kissed him firmly.

No longer needing to worry about what Alfred was doing, Arthur's mind wandered for just a moment and he finally really listened to the music. The lyrics had reached a part that resonated with him strongly, and it filled him with nostalgia and sadness for what he had lost and what he could loose. He kissed Alfred with a sudden passion in an attempt to drive the emotions away.

_Oh, the alcoholic afternoons _

_When we sat in your rooms _

_They meant more to me _

_Than any, than any living thing on earth _

_They had more worth _

_Than any living thing on earth _

_On earth, on earth, oh . . . _

_Vivid and in your prime _

_You will leave me behind_

You will leave me behind.

Arthur swung off of Alfred when the song ended. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He turned his head away slightly and Alfred shifted a little. "'These Things Take Time,' from _Hatful of Hollow,_" Arthur said. "I don't believe it got much press in the U.S."

Alfred shrugged, unaware of the affect the song had had on Arthur. "Great thing about the internet, right? You can find anything." He smirked and leaned forward. "I was starting to get worried you were just like that when you were a little drunk, but I guess not."

Arthur's left eyebrow jerked upwards. "Pardon?"

"Just now, being all assertive." He gave Arthur a flirtatious look but Arthur just looked back blankly. "Oh, right, you don't remember that, huh? In the cab you were kinda coming onto me. It's all good," he added quickly as both of Arthur's eyebrows shot up and he gripped the seat cushion, trying not to turn bright red. "It wasn't like a big deal, and I asked for it, trying to get your wallet out of your pocket." He chuckled and picked up his glasses from the coffee table. "You just kinda got on top of me a bit. It all worked out okay." He ran a few fingers through his hair and sat back, still smiling at Arthur.

"Anything else of which you'd like to enlighten me?" Arthur asked, blushing furiously despite his efforts.

"Nope. You up for some lunch?"

Arthur frowned. He disliked the obvious change of subject. "Alright," he said. "What would you like to have?"

"That's what I was going to ask you." He stood up. "Come on, let's go see. I mean, normally I'd go out for burgers, but I know you disapprove of that kind of thing." He grinned and disappeared into the kitchen.

Arthur followed him and peered over his shoulder into a refrigerator filled with every kind of leftover imaginable. Quite a lot of them, he noticed, were labeled – some more neatly than others.

"What do you say to enchiladas?" Alfred asked.

"Sure."

Alfred pulled the appropriate container out of the fridge and popped it into the microwave. He hit "start" and effortlessly hopped up onto the counter. He swung his legs back and forth, looking at Arthur. Arthur elected to lean elegantly against the island of counters in the centre of the kitchen and gaze at him with feigned disinterest. In reality, he was extremely interested, for he would have quite happily traded any number of things to press Alfred roughly against that counter and. . . .

"You don't seem like the kind of guy who likes sports," Alfred said, interrupting his stream of thought.

Arthur adapted quickly. "I told you, I'm very fond of the _proper _kind of football. I can't say I have much interest in other sports." He thought a moment. "Cricket can be kind of nice to play, though I can't say I much like watching it." Alfred nodded, though Arthur had to wonder if he actually knew what cricket _was_. It was never mentioned in the states, he had found. Quite a disappointment. "And you like your kind of football?"

"Yeah, but I'm good with pretty much everything. I used to collect baseball cards like crazy when I was little, but I kinda grew out of it, I guess. I'll watch pretty much anything that's playing."

Arthur nodded. The microwave beeped and Alfred jumped down from the counter. He had doubtless played football in what they called high school; he certainly had the shoulders for it, from what Arthur could tell about the requirements of football. He had a certain grace when he moved, though, that didn't fit at all with what Arthur had generally found American sports to be like.

Alfred served up the enchiladas, which didn't actually look very appetising at this point in their life cycle. Arthur ate it all, but it wasn't really to his taste. They talked while they ate, and Alfred mentioned that his roommates would probably not be gone for much longer. Arthur expressed interest in meeting them, but it was mostly for politeness's sake, and he was glad when Alfred came up with excuses why that wouldn't be necessary. Arthur expressed a need to be going. Alfred protested a little but gave in. "If you want to borrow a CD or something, let me know," he said. "I can burn you pretty much anything you want."

"Thank you for the offer. I'll let you know." Arthur didn't have much intention of taking him up on the offer, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt it if he did.

"Cool." Alfred smiled warmly and walked Arthur to the door. He seemed content to watch him without speaking as he pulled on his coat and then his scarf, all very slowly. This was fine with Arthur, as he was deep in thought.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner," Arthur said finally. "You've spent a lot of time driving me around, and that isn't fair."

"It's no problem, really," Alfred said, waving his hand dismissively. "I like driving you around."

"I mean it," Arthur said. "Call me and we'll figure out a date and time, but I'll be picking you up."

Alfred shook his head with a smile. "Alright." He held the door open, again careful not to touch Arthur, as though afraid to ever leave Arthur with a bad impression. _A touch or a kiss would never be a bad impression, _Arthur thought, but he didn't act on it. He slid on his gloves and stepped outside. "Goodbye," he said, "And thank you for having me over."

"You're welcome. See ya," Alfred said with a gentle, happy smile, and closed the door.

Arthur turned and walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. He had walked a block before his thoughts turned into something cohesive. "Oh God, you are beautiful," he whispered into the chill air. A sharp emotion bit into his heart at the words. Hadn't he been done with all the heartbreak and all the pain? And yet here he was again. He was being serenaded by a man in the only way he knew how, through other people's words and other people's music, and it was working. (His damn smile didn't help.) He knew it didn't matter whose words they were as long as the emotion behind them rang true, and in this case, he thought that it just might. That was the best thing about this, he decided; but also the worst thing, because the end would hurt all the more for it.

_Vivid and in your prime _

_You will leave me behind _

_You will leave me behind._


	7. The Movie Date

_Chapter 7: The Movie Date _

* * *

Alfred called Arthur that night, after he had finished dinner. They had seen each other only that morning, and Arthur was flattered that he had called him so soon. They talked about nonsense for a bit before Alfred steered the conversation towards their next date. Arthur had hardly thought about it yet.

"We should have dinner at your house. It would be fun."

Arthur fingered his shirt collar. "What, like take-out?" he asked, purposely not drawing the correct conclusion.

"No. I want to try your cooking. You got to try mine, so it's only fair." Alfred's voice was playful.

Arthur swallowed and shifted his weight uncomfortably. The enchiladas were still sitting heavily in his stomach. "You mean lunch?"

"Yeah! I make enchiladas all the time. They're super easy and fast."

"Ah." Arthur thought for a moment. _He doesn't seem picky, and besides, what if he likes your cooking? You never know. _"I suppose I could cook us dinner."

"Yes!" Alfred said triumphantly.

"Would you like to go out for a movie first?"

"Sure! This totally awesome one just came out –"

Arthur rolled his eyes. It had zombies in it. He agreed to it anyway.

"So, what do you think about Wednesday?" Alfred asked.

Arthur wanted to say yes, but he knew that there was no way he would be able to borrow the car for anything sooner than Friday night. (There was another reason that he thought Friday was a better day, but he wasn't admitting that to himself yet.) "Well, I have to go grocery shopping and things like that. I really just won't have time until Friday," he said lamely.

"Aw." Alfred sounded disappointed. "I can go shopping with you though, right? I'll buy the groceries, since you'll be cooking."

Arthur bit his lip. It was true, free groceries would be nice, but. . . . "I want it to be a surprise." _Because I have no idea what I'm making yet. _

Alfred seemed to perk up at that. "Okay, cool."

Alfred continued to call him every night, pulling bits and pieces of his life out of him one by one. They'd be talking about their respective commutes to work and Alfred would ask something like, "Are you used to big cities? I grew up basically in Los Angeles before I moved here, so I've never really lived in the country," or "When was the last time you owned a car?" Soon he was asking about Arthur's friends, and Arthur knew it was only time before he started asking about his love life, so he deflected questions and changed topics. Alfred didn't seem to really notice.

On Tuesday night, Arthur decided that they had enough of plan for what they were doing that he really needed to check that it was going to work out. He dialled Francis's number without bothering to look it up and waited as the phone rang twice (it always rang twice when Arthur called).

"'ello, Arthur. Not calling to chat, I suppose?"

"No, not really." _Damn. Not exactly giving me a chance to soften you up, are you? _"I wanted to ask a favour."

There was a sigh on the other end. "This is what I get for always asking you for things. What is it?"

"I'd like to borrow your car for Friday night."

"Arthur, I have a _date _Friday night," he wailed.

"So do I," he replied crossly. "And I'm sure you have one every other night of the week as well. Either you change it, or I'm sure you can get them to pick you up from work and take you home."

"But then how would I get home in the morning?"

Arthur rolled his eyes; of _course_ he would assume that Arthur hadn't meant Francis's flat. "I'm sure they can take you home to your place just as easily as to their own."

Francis sighed again, pitifully. Arthur wasn't buying it. "I suppose I can leave the key under the doormat outside my office."

"Thanks."

"I expect it back as early as possible, without a scratch on it," he said sternly. "I need it all of Saturday."

"Yeah, it will be." _Whatever. _

"And if you get _anything_ on the leather, I will use your skin to replace it," Francis said in a mildly suggestive voice that implied what exactly Arthur would be getting on the seats.

"Like I would!" Arthur practically shouted into the phone, and hung up. "Stupid Francis," he muttered, and stalked off to find a recipe to make.

* * *

On Thursday after work, Arthur went shopping. He bought steak, onions, kidneys, and raisins in addition to what he normally got. He also picked up some extra potatoes and sausages, just in case Alfred stayed the night (not that he would, Arthur told himself sternly), and a bottle of cheap wine. He spent the rest of the night cooking and went to bed feeling pleasantly exhausted.

On Friday during his lunch break, Arthur took the subway to a rather impressive skyscraper. He found Francis's office, and sure enough, the car key was under the doormat ("Stupid Francis. Who needs a doormat in front of their office?" he muttered to himself). He went down to the lower levels that housed the car park and found the black Citroën C6, imported specially to the U.S. It wasn't too difficult to find, as it was polished and cleaned so that it practically glowed, and there was a little sign that said "Reserved for Francis Bonnefoy" on the wall in front of it. Hearing it beep as he unlocked it made him smile. He slid smoothly in the seat. It turned on nicely and practically purred as he backed it out. He couldn't help grinning as he cruised back to work. It had been several years since he'd driven a car, but he'd always loved it, even though it always took a second to remember which side of the road he was supposed to be on. He used up almost all of his break, of course, and had to bolt his lunch down by the time he got back to the office, but it was worth it.

The last few hours of his day were torture. The minutes ticked by so slowly he was sure the clock was broken. As soon as the clock struck 5, he pulled his things together and rushed out of the office. He sped out of the car park but hit traffic almost immediately ("Fucking traffic," he muttered). When he got home, he quickly changed his pants and shirt before dashing out of the door again. Every few minutes on his way to Alfred's he recalculated how much time they had. The movie started at 6:45, and every minute of traffic was bringing them closer to being late. Finally he pulled up in front of Alfred's house and stepped out.

He could hear music coming from inside, which slowed his pace. He found the doorbell and hesitantly ran it. While he waited, he ran fingers through his hair and straightened his jacket. The door swung open and Arthur was flooded with the noise of loud music and many voices talking.

"Who are you, aru?" asked the person in front of him. Arthur squinted; they appeared to be male. His hair was long and black and pulled back in a ponytail. "Are you here for the party?"

"Uh, no, I'm– Is Alfred here?"

"Yeah. _Hey Alfred!_" he yelled behind him.

"_Yeah, I'll be down in a second,_" came a faint answering yell.

"He'll be down in a second," the person said unhelpfully. "Do you want to come in?"

"Uh, it's alright, I'll just stay here." Arthur's heart was beating against his ribs painfully. _Why is this so awkward? _

"Okay," the man said, but just as he began to close the door, someone hurtled down the staircase and practically ran into him.

"Yao, I'm going out for a bit," Alfred said as he hopped on one foot, pulling a shoe onto the other. His attention snapped towards Arthur and his face lit up. "Hey Arthur," he said, grinning as if he couldn't help himself.

"Okay, your loss if you want to miss the party," Yao said, and with one last curious glance at Arthur, walked off to rejoin the crowd of people inside.

"Sorry, I got caught up with other stuff," Alfred said as he pulled his jacket on.

"You should have told me you had plans," Arthur said uncomfortably. "We can cancel if you want to stay."

Alfred shook his head as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. "Really, we have parties all the time. I don't know half the people there, and I'd much prefer to be spending the time with you." He flashed Arthur a smile, and Arthur had to smile a little at that. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said. "You?"

Alfred smiled. "Great." He wrapped his arms around Arthur and quickly nuzzled his neck before letting go. Arthur hardly had time to react and stared at him, a bit pink. Alfred took his hand. "Come on, let's go. What time does the movie start again?"

Arthur followed him down the walkway. "How did you know to apologise if you didn't know if we were running late or not?"

"Well, I figured if you were here it would have to be time to go, you know?"

"It is. It starts in–" he glanced at his watch – "30 minutes."

"Jeez, half an hour? That's plenty of time."

Arthur unlocked the car and went around to the driver's side. "No, it will take us at least 20 minutes to get there, not counting unexpected delays, and that's not counting waiting in line for tickets, either."

"If you say so." Alfred looked around while Arthur started up the car. "Nice ride."

"Thanks. I'm borrowing it from a friend." He pulled out into traffic.

"Ah." Alfred sat back in his seat and looked thoughtfully out the window.

"So, that was one of you roommates?"

"Yeah, Yao."

"He seemed nice enough." Alfred shrugged. Arthur thought of the strange look he had given him and gripped the steering wheel. "Does he . . . Do they . . . know who I am?"

"Not really." Alfred shifted in his seat, embarrassed. "Uh, Kiku's the only one who knows that I'm, you know, gay."

"Ah." _Great. _

"It's not like I'm not out of the closet or anything, it's just kind of a, uh –"

"Don't ask, don't tell policy?"

"Yeah."

Arthur nodded, tight-lipped. "I see." _So not only is he probably embarrassed that Yao saw me, he's also embarrassed about who he is?_ He put on the turn signal and deftly changed lanes. "How did Kiku find out? Did he ask?"

"Nope. We'd become pretty good friends, so I figured I should tell him, but he told me he'd figured it out after like a week." Alfred stared at the dashboard, deep in thought. After a moment his head came up. "How about you? Is your family cool with it?"

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. "We . . . don't really talk about it."

Alfred gave him a crooked smile. "Kind of a don't ask, don't tell policy?"

Arthur's mouth quirked into a humourless smile. "I suppose, yes. How about your family?"

"Oh, I told them ages ago. They're really supportive and everything. It's nice."

"I imagine."

"Yeah." Alfred turned to look at Arthur. "What have your boyfriends been like?"

_Here we go. _"Well," Arthur said dryly, "You've already met Francis."

"Oh."

He glanced at Alfred. He looked worried. "Don't worry, he's not as bad as he seems." _And don't ever tell Francis I said that, or I'll kill you. _

"Okay. I mean, he didn't seem that bad," Alfred added hurriedly. "Just kinda, I don't know."

"There have been others, all a bit . . . mad in their own ways. Antonio and I broke up over an incident with a tomato."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." It had been more complicated than that, of course, but the details weren't important. The details were never important. "What about you?"

"I haven't had that many." Alfred smiled nervously. "I dated girls for a while, but obviously that didn't work out."

"How many is not that many?"

"Two."

Arthur nodded. "That's a good number."

"I guess." Silence settled over them, broken only occasionally until they reached the theatre. They were there in plenty of time, Arthur was relieved to find, though he did have to suffer five minutes of embarrassment waiting in line with zombie fans. Alfred was clearly very excited, swaying back and forth and babbling nonstop. Arthur tried to keep up, but found that a nod or two was all Alfred really needed to keep him happy. As soon as they bought their tickets, Alfred grabbed a giant bag of popcorn ("You had better be prepared to eat all of that," Arthur told him, which Alfred replied to with only a grin) and an equally giant Coca-Cola. He slurped it noisily all the way to the room the movie was showing in, and kept slurping noisily while they (that is, Alfred) chatted and waited for the movie to begin. The lights darkened and Arthur became worried that Alfred was going to be making this much noise for the whole movie, but as soon as the first preview started, Alfred put down his drink. Arthur glanced at him. He was riveted to the screen already, and had begun shovelling popcorn into his mouth. A smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's mouth. _He's just like a little kid, _he thought fondly, and turned his attention to the screen.

Alfred lasted about five minutes of spooky nighttime shots and mysterious howling before he clapped a hand over his mouth and scooted closer to Arthur. After another two minutes, he gripped Arthur's hand, and by the time they had been there for fifteen minutes Alfred was clinging to Arthur's shirt. Arthur, who was almost enjoying the movie, sighed and unbent Alfred's fingers one by one. He wrapped an arm around Alfred's shoulders (very aware of the other people in the audience) and held both of Alfred's hands firmly in his lip. Alfred leaned into him appreciatively and visibly relaxed, but never took his eyes away from the scenes of zombie brain munching. After a minute, he freed one of his hands from Arthur's grasp and plunged it back into the bag of popcorn.

When the credits started and the lights came up, Alfred jumped out of his seat and began to practically push Arthur out of the theatre. Arthur grumbled but collected his coat and made his way towards the exit. "Wasn't that _awesome_?" Alfred exclaimed. "The special effects were _so cool!_"

"I thought you were terrified," Arthur said dryly, and glanced at the bag of popcorn and soda still in Alfred's possession. Both, he noticed, were completely empty.

"No way. You must have been seeing things," Alfred said dismissively.

"Did you really eat that entire bag of popcorn?"

Alfred tossed it in the nearest bin. "Why else would I have bought it?" he said with a grin, and his hand brushed against Arthur's. Arthur knew he would have held it if they weren't in the middle of a crowd of people.

They got back to Arthur's apartment in a decent amount of time. Arthur threw his coat in the closet and told Alfred to make himself at home while he prepared dinner. He threw the steak and kidney pie in the oven for a minute to warm it up, and set about a pot of boiling water for the peas and carrots. He pulled out the bread and butter pudding, which he would put in the oven while they ate.

As Arthur stirred the carrots, Alfred came up behind him and put both arms around his waist. He nuzzled the nape of Arthur's neck and kissed the spot where his neck and shoulder met. Arthur was surprised at how natural it felt to relax in his arms. He put his free hand over one of Alfred's and let their fingers intertwine. Alfred's breath was warm, and it tickled the hairs just below Arthur's ear. Arthur let his eyelids slide half closed and Alfred's gaze glazed over in contentment. They stayed like that for a long moment until the carrots were in danger of becoming truly overcooked, and Arthur had to break free. He gently freed his hand from Alfred's, and Alfred slowly relinquished his grip on Arthur's waist. "Would you please get out some plates? They're over there." He pointed at a nearby cupboard.

"Right," Alfred said, and fetched them. Arthur served up the pie and the peas and carrots, and then put the dessert in the oven. Alfred began eating the second Arthur sat down. Arthur eyed him closely, waiting for the gagging. "'S good," Alfred said after a moment's thought, and continued to eat.

Arthur internally sighed in relief and took a bite himself. _Yes, not bad._ "I ate this all the time when I was a child."

"Oh? I guess I kinda grew up on hamburgers." Alfred grinned. "That and mac n' cheese are my comfort foods. And apple pie."

"I don't understand you Americans and your apple pie," Arthur said, gesturing with his fork. "It's just apples."

Alfred shook his head vigorously as he chewed. "Nope. You gotta try my mom's apple pie. It is _heaven._"

Arthur smiled. "How would I do that? Does she mail it over for you during the holidays?"

Alfred cocked his head and paused. "Huh. That's not such a bad idea."

"I wasn't being serious. I'm sure it would fall apart in the mail."

"No, no, not that. How would you like to spend Christmas at my folk's place?"

Arthur blinked. "What? This Christmas?"

"Well, definitely not _last _Christmas."

Arthur thought for a moment. Christmas was well over a month away, so purchasing a decent ticket would still be possible. He hadn't had a real Christmas in ages. "That would be nice," he said.

Alfred smiled at him in a way that made him glow. "Awesome."

Alfred ate all of his piece of pie and went back for a second helping, which made Arthur happy, but he was disappointed to find that Alfred wasn't as fond of bread and butter pudding. ("Raisins are okay, I guess," Alfred said, and shrugged.) By the time they were done, it was nearly 10 o'clock.

"Oh," Arthur said. "It's getting late. And I bought some wine, but I guess that was silly since I'm driving you home."

_"Well . . ." _Alfred said meaningfully. Arthur looked at him. He blushed and turned away. "L-let's talk a bit more."

"Let's move to the living room," Arthur said, immensely curious about what Alfred had meant. _Was he really implying what I think he was implying? _When they were settled on the couch, Alfred put an arm around his shoulder and rested their heads together. "So what did you think of your experience with English cuisine?"

"Good," Alfred said. "I've only ever had scones and English muffins before."

"Ah," Arthur said. "You should try crumpets. They're much better than English muffins."

"What are crumpets like?"

"They're kind of like . . . circular sponges, though they're a little rubbery." He winced. "That doesn't sound very appetising, sorry. I don't know. You spread jam and things on them, and they're quite good."

"I'll have to try them sometime." Alfred nuzzled his hair, which Arthur found very distracting. "I guess we don't really have awesome American food, except burgers and hot dogs."

"I'm sure you do and you're just used to it," Arthur said, barely paying attention to what he was saying. He was suddenly very aware of Alfred's fingers on his knee.

"You're probably right," Alfred said, and kissed his ear. Somehow Arthur's lips found Alfred's, and things just went downhill from there (so to speak).

By 10:30, Arthur's shirt was barely attached to him, and Alfred wasn't even wearing his anymore. Arthur looked down at the way Alfred's hair curled against the flowered cushion he had embroidered ages ago (_A simple design, but still a pleasing one, _he though idly), and it was only his sense of duty that made him say: "It's getting late."

"Yes, it is," Alfred said, looking up at him lazily. He put a hand firmly on the back of his neck and pulled him in, kissing him deeply. Arthur was starting to forget why he had thought going further was a bad idea. _Wasn't it because you thought he didn't want to? _he thought. _I think you might have been wrong. _

"What do you think – what do you think about staying the night?" he said. The words felt heavy. _Commitment, _he thought. _It doesn't have to be, but it is. Don't get hurt. _

"I think that would be a great idea," Alfred said without a second thought, and pulled him close again.

The bottle of wine sat on the counter next to the car keys, both forgotten.

* * *

"Mm, you're beautiful," Alfred murmured into the skin of Arthur's shoulder. Arthur stroked his hair idly.

"You're just saying that. It's the hormones."

"No, really." Alfred lifted his head a little and Arthur looked at him. "It's not just now. I noticed when I first saw you."

"No, Alfred," Arthur told him lazily. "You thought I was sexy."

"Damn straight," Alfred said, kissing a spot just below his collarbone. He propped himself up on one elbow and gently brushed Arthur's hair away from his forehead. "But I thought you were beautiful, too."

Arthur closed his eyes. This was beginning to feel like a serious conversation. "This is just talk," he mumbled. "I'm going to go take a shower."

"Alright. Can I come with?"

Arthur heaved himself up into a sitting position. "Nah, it's too small for the two of us."

"Alright." Alfred settled back into the sheets and watched him leave.

The hot water soothed the parts of him that ached, and he sighed. His thoughts were confused; this felt right, but for some reason he had thought it was wrong. He thought of Alfred lying there in bed, _his _bed, and he felt his heart both swell a little and ache at the thought. _You love him, _he thought. _And it's not the hormones. Maybe you shouldn't be so afraid all the time. _

When he returned, Alfred was on his back, eyes closed. "Alfred," he said. "I"m done." Alfred didn't move. "Alfred?" Arthur crawled under the sheets beside him and looked at him. His breathing was quiet and even. The sheets barely covered him, but he didn't seem exposed; even the way he slept seemed confident. There was a gentleness and youth in his face, though, that was usually hidden. Arthur untangled the sheets and pulled them to his chin. He touched his hand and then hesitantly intertwined their fingers. "You're beautiful, too," he whispered. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of floating in warmth, his hold on Alfred's hand the only thing that secured him to solid ground. Sleep took him almost immediately.

* * *

Alfred woke to the smell of frying sausage and the sun streaming through the curtains. It was warm, and it felt like Arthur. He closed his eyes and lay there for several minutes more, and then he got up.

* * *

_Author's note: _I won't go into Arthur and Alfred's love backgrounds much more, so don't ask who Alfred's two boyfriends were or what happened with the tomato. Was the tomato named Romano, or was it a real tomato? I honestly don't know. Yes, Francis is kind of a reoccurring theme; I figure you can't really have Arthur without Francis. :) And I'll try and speed through the next chapter so I can post the Christmas one before the holidays are totally over. Sorry this one took so long. See you next chapter. :)


	8. The Next Morning and Christmas Eve Eve

_Chapter 8: The Next Morning and Christmas Eve Eve_

_Author's note: _I just wanted to tell you all that I love you guys. 3 Your comments make my day, every time. Happy New Year, everyone! :)

* * *

Alfred walked into the kitchen with just his jeans on. "Good morning," Arthur said without looking up, but when he saw Alfred he frowned. "Go put some clothes on," he told him, and waved towards the bedroom with his spatula. Alfred gave him a sleepy grin and ignored him. He shuffled over, wrapped his arms around Arthur, and buried his face in his hair. "I'm trying to cook," Arthur protested, but he didn't push him away.

"Smells good," Alfred mumbled. He peered over Arthur's shoulder. "Bacon and sausage?" Arthur rolled a sausage around in the pan and nodded. Alfred kissed him on the cheek and Arthur blushed. "Bacon's my favourite."

"Good," Arthur said. Alfred yawned and released him. Arthur looked at him sidelong. "How can you still be tired? It's 9:30 in the morning."

"Oh, still early," Alfred said, and sat down at the table. Arthur wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. "Why, how long have you been up?"

"Since 7."

"Aw, and you haven't eaten breakfast?" Alfred looked at him with great sympathy. Arthur had to smile.

"Yes, and I'm still alive. Now eat up," he said, and placed a plate of sausage, bacon, and toast in front of Alfred.

Alfred ate it amazingly quickly, and got seconds. "Aw, it's all gone?" he said mournfully when he got up for thirds.

"You're still hungry?" Arthur exclaimed, exasperated.

"Yeah. Hey, can I try those crumpet things?"

"Sure." Arthur pulled them out and popped a couple in the toaster. "What kind of jam do you want? I have strawberry and apricot."

Alfred looked at him blankly. "Aaah-pricot?"

Arthur gave him a strange look and held up the jar of pale orange jam. "Yes, apricot."

"Oh." Alfred looked relieved. "_Ape-_ricot. Yeah, I'll have that."

Arthur said "tsk," and opened the jar. The crumpets popped up and he quickly spread them with jam. When he turned around, he saw Alfred gazing at him admiringly. "What?" he asked crossly, embarrassed.

"Can we do this every morning?"

Arthur turned a little pink. "Not _every _morning. I do have to go to work, you know."

"Every Saturday morning? And Sunday?"

"Maybe," Arthur admitted, and set the food before him. He watched him closely as he took a bite. "What do you think?"

"Mm, 's yummy," Alfred said with his mouth full.

"Good," Arthur said, and sipped at his cup of tea.

"So how come you didn't tell me you do that embroidery stuff?" Alfred asked around the food.

Arthur blinked. "Pardon?"

"You've got a basket in your bedroom with thread and stuff in it."

Arthur recrossed his legs uncomfortably. "What were you looking around in my room for?" _Damn, I put that away on purpose. _

Alfred grinned. "I didn't have much of a chance the first time. I was busy writing you a note so you wouldn't think I'd taken advantage of the situation, remember?"

Arthur looked away with a smile. "That seems so long ago."

"It _was _so long ago."

"But yes, I do embroidery. I'm making a cushion cover for my mother for Christmas."

Alfred nodded. "Cool."

"I made the ones on the couch, too," he added tentatively.

"Oh really?" Alfred asked, turning around in his chair to try to get a look at them. He stood up and walked over to the couch, peering at them. "Huh. They're nice."

"Thanks." Arthur couldn't help admiring him as he returned to the table. Alfred noticed, grinned, and kissed him. "I really should be getting you home," Arthur murmured.

"Maybe in a minute," Alfred said into his hair, and kissed him again. He tasted like apricot jam. His hair tickled Arthur's cheek, and he wouldn't have given up that kiss for the world.

* * *

After Arthur had dropped Alfred off at his house (a few houses down, so as to be discreet), he pulled out his cell phone with a sigh. _Ring, ring. _"'ello?" asked a seductive voice. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Good morning, Francis. Should I bother to knock on your door, or should I just leave the key under the doormat?"

"What, you still haven't returned my car?" Francis demanded indignantly. "It's nearly . . . nearly . . ." Arthur definitely heard giggling in the background. "Late," Francis finished lamely. "I expected it back _hours _ago."

"You're not even at home, so what does it matter?" Arthur asked dryly. "I"ll leave the key under the doormat."

"Yes, fine, do that. I take it this means you at least enjoyed yourself last night?"

"Yes," Arthur drawled, but since it was true it didn't come out quite as sarcastically as he'd intended.

"Oh good," Francis said, sounding pleased as if he had had a part in it. "Oh, and I should have told you; you were welcome to use anything in the glove compartment. Probably don't have much of a stash, hmm?"

Arthur clicked open the glove compartment subtly while telling Francis that they'd been perfectly fine, thank you. A long string of condoms fell out, and he quickly stuffed it back inside. Behind it were things he didn't want to know the purposes of. "Yes, anyway, thanks for the car. Talk to you later," Arthur said quickly, and hung up. _Perverted frog, _Arthur thought crossly with an angry blush. _Assuming I wouldn't have reason to be perfectly prepared. The nerve! _He pulled away from the sidewalk and sped off in the direction of Francis's flat, and then home.

* * *

Alfred spent the night at Arthur's house more and more frequently. The only issue they had was Thanksgiving: Alfred wanted to celebrate it with his friends, but according to him, Arthur was excluded by necessity. It was already risky that Yao had seen him, Alfred explained. Well why don't you just tell them I'm a friend, if you're so determined to be in denial, then? Arthur asked. It would be weird, Alfred replied, and gave him such a sad look that Arthur relented. (He hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but really, did Alfred have to be so stubborn?) However, Arthur did finally get to meet Kiku. One of the rare times Alfred invited Arthur over, he invited Kiku to eat lunch with them. It turned out that Kiku was quiet. Arthur didn't know what to say to him, so he became quiet also, but this suited Alfred just fine. He talked, and they listened, and Arthur decided that he liked Kiku. He seemed to be really listening to everything Alfred was saying and following it decently, which even Arthur was still getting the hang of. Kiku also seemed to like Arthur, in his own way, and there was sense of shared suffering when Alfred talked and ate at the same time or said something immature. Kiku was someone who understood the value of silence.

The weeks went by too quickly. Arthur tied the final knots in the embroidered cushion cover and finished mailing the presents for his family. Before he knew it, it was time to leave to visit Alfred's family for Christmas. He had already packed a small suitcase and buried his present for Alfred deep inside.

The morning was crisp and cold. Fresh snow from the night before lay on the ground. Alfred got Kiku to drive them to the airport, which Arthur thought was unfortunate because he really would have liked to have been able to talk to Kiku more. As it was, he was fidgety and kept spacing out. Finally Alfred put an arm around him and pulled him close.

"They'll love you. Come on, we've got _five days _off work. It's going to be fun."

"Right," Arthur said with a forced smile, and tried to relax.

The airport was very, very crowded, and all the standing in line quickly put Arthur in a bad mood. Alfred was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Will you stop it?" Arthur finally snapped. "It's going to be at least another hour, and then we have to sit on the bloody plane for eight hours. Acting like a bouncy ball is not going to make it go by any faster."

"Yes, dear," Alfred said playfully, and Arthur wanted to smack him.

They finally got on the plane and took their assigned seats without any problem. Alfred took the window seat and Arthur didn't protest. Arthur wasn't able to relax until they were in the air; he had a slight fear of flying, but really, the taking off was the hardest part. After that it was all good. He leaned back in his seat and looked at Alfred.

Alfred's face was pressed to the window. At first Arthur thought that he was just giving New York city a last look, but then he saw that his mouth was tight and his face was blank. Arthur looked over his shoulder. It took him a moment, but then he saw the harsh scar on the ground: Ground 0 of the 9/11 attacks. He placed a hand over Alfred's and squeezed gently.

"I should have trained to be a firefighter," was all that Alfred said. When it was out of view he turned back towards Arthur and gave him a strained but reassuring smile.

The hours were long, but Alfred convinced him to play a few games of magnetic checkers and then a card game to stave off boredom. When these failed to take up a very large chunk of time, Alfred started talking. He began by describing his parents, and then his relatives, and when he was done with the list of who might possibly be coming to Christmas dinner, he started on the menu. "And don't worry, I asked my mom to make apple pie for dessert tonight, or yesterday, or whenever it is we're supposed to get there."

"I'm looking forward to it," Arthur replied.

When Alfred fell asleep, Arthur pulled out a novel and began to read. It was perhaps an hour later that he nodded off as well, and when he woke up – they still had three hours to go. "Goddammit," he muttered, and picked up his book again.

"So tell me," Alfred said when he had finally woken up again, "Why don't you and your brothers get along? Was it something in particular?"

Arthur felt an unpleasant feeling, as though he had just been shocked. He looked up. Alfred was looking at him with a mix of honest interest and concern that made it impossible for Arthur not to answer fully. His mouth twisted into a grimace. "Usually it wasn't something in particular, no. Just siblings teasing one another. I've always had a temper, so when they teased me I took it very personally. The closest in age to me was still a good five years my senior, so he always stuck with the other two. We fought a lot, and I usually lost, but if my parents ever sided with me they'd claim it was unfair. It worked. My parents tried very hard to be fair."

"But you guys grew out of that, didn't you?"

Arthur sighed. "No, not really. It just turned into fist fights, and when I started to act out they tried to get me in trouble with the police."

"Oh, jeez." Alfred looked really worried. "Did you do anything that serious?"

Arthur shrugged. "It seemed like it at the time, but probably not."

"But why don't you get along now?"

"Well, we do. We just don't talk about things now. It works out."

"What kind of things don't you talk about?"

Arthur winced. _There you go. _"I believe I mentioned I never told my parents that I'm . . ." _Gay._

"Right."

"Part of my acting out was bringing boys home. Not to . . . or anything." He looked sidelong at Alfred, who was looking scandalised. "Just to mess with my parents, really. They either never noticed, which I find hard to believe, or they were determined not to care. Anyway, they never did anything about it. My brothers, though, they . . . I don't know why, but they felt it was their duty to be as cruel to me as possible. The one thing that really made me different."

"Jeez." Alfred looked horrified. Arthur could see his imagination working, but he felt too worn out to assuage his fears.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent in a few minutes. Please make sure all tray tables are safely stowed and your seats are in the upright position. . . ." _

"Thank God, we can finally get off this bloody plane," Arthur muttered, propping his chin up with a sigh.

Alfred perked up. "Wow, we're almost there. Look! Look!" He was pointing on the window, craning his neck. "That's Los Angeles!"

Arthur leaned over his shoulder and peered out the window. Solid blackness where the sky was, and below it, a tapestry of pinpoints of light. A hint of nostalgia bit at him. _Nothing quite like going home, _he thought. What did London look like right now, spread out in this same darkness? He felt a hand on his. Alfred still had his nose pressed to the window, but he had laced his fingers through Arthur's. Arthur smiled and felt affection swell in him. _It is nice to be loved, _he thought. _It is nice to have a home. _

Alfred's parents were both waiting for them at the baggage claim. Alfred dropped his two giant suitcases and wrapped his mother up into a hug while Arthur awkwardly gripped his one traveling case. Alfred's father smiled at him, and Arthur felt a slight connection; there they were, both waiting for Alfred's attention. Then Alfred hugged his father, and his mother came bustling around to hug Arthur. Arthur turned bright red.

"Hello, you must be Arthur! I'm Alfred's mother, but you can call me Joyce. I've heard so much about you!"

"Eh heh, a pleasure to meet you too," Arthur managed as he felt his breath being squeezed out of him. Joyce was short, but she was not a small woman. _I see where Alfred gets his talkative streak. And probably his love of hamburgers, _he added mentally, though he kicked himself for thinking such a thing.

Joyce pulled back to look at him and smiled contentedly. "It will be so nice to have another boy in the house. It's so lonely without Alfred. Five years, and we're still getting used to it!"

"Heh," Arthur said. _Right, it has only been five years for him. How strange. _Alfred and his father had separated, though Alfred was still babbling away.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" his father finally managed to ask, pointedly. Arthur felt his ears going pink again. "_Your friend." What did Alfred even tell them about me, anyway? _

"Right, this is Arthur. Arthur, my dad."

"Thomas. A pleasure to meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you also," Arthur replied. They shared a firm handshake. Alfred's father was even taller than Alfred, and he was muscular, though he had a slight belly that showed through his polo shirt. _Polo shirt? _Arthur thought. He looked at Joyce. She was wearing a scarf and a light jacket, but the scarf looked like it was for show. _What, does it just not ever get cold in California? _

"Come on, let's get to the car," Thomas was saying to Alfred, who was practically jumping up and down. They set out, Arthur trailing along behind on purpose. Alfred and his parents deserved some time to catch up.

The air was slightly chill, but hardly cold. Joyce zipped up her jacket and Arthur took his off. By the time they reached the car (a giant SUV; hadn't Alfred said he was an only child?), Alfred was finally letting his parents get some words in edgewise, but he clearly was not done talking. In fact, he talked most of the ride home. Finally he paused long enough for Joyce to turn around in her seat and look at Arthur. "What is your family doing for the holidays?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, they're staying back in England. At the moment, they're probably cooking meals for Christmas dinner."

"Ah, you must have a real Christmas dinner, with courses, then," Alfred's father said.

"Yes. My parents are fond of tradition."

"Do you have blood pudding and things like that?" asked Joyce.

"Uh, yes," Arthur said, beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that he was being studied.

"I've never had blood pudding."

"It's quite good."

"Have you ever made it?"

"Er, no. I haven't."

"Can't be too pleasant, I imagine."

"I think you get used to it." There was a moment of awkward silence. "Alfred's told me your apple pie is heaven," Arthur said with some effort.

Joyce laughed. "Oh, did he? It's not, really."

"Don't be modest, mom," Alfred told her. "It really is," he said to Arthur. The atmosphere relaxed, and Alfred again filled in the silence so effortlessly. They reached his house in what felt like no time at all. When they reached it, Arthur couldn't help raising an eyebrow and gawking, just a little bit.

It was huge. There was no other word for it, expect perhaps monstrous. It was also covered in an enormous amount of lights, and looked a bit like an out-of-control gingerbread house. What looked like a sled was perched precariously by a fake chimney. There was a lawn in the front of the house which was also covered with various Christmas decorations, including an inflatable Santa Claus and a veritable herd of lighted deer which were moving heir heads up and down at different rates.

Alfred hardly seemed to notice. He jumped out of the SUV and began to pull their luggage out of the boot. Arthur went to help but found there was no need. He picked up his suitcase and followed Alfred and his parents past the deer (which he actually found a little bit disturbing; they seemed to be watching him, even though they had no eyes) and into the house. It was brightly lit and decorated in warm, light wood.

Everyone stopped in the entry way and seemed to be talking at once. Arthur put down his luggage and looked around. Suddenly a golden retriever appeared, sniffing everyone and prancing about in happiness. Arthur watched in horror as it leapt up and put both paws on Alfred's shoulders, licking him on the chin. Alfred laughed and hugged the dog, saying "Down, girl," half-heartedly. It came up and nosed Arthur gently, which made him smile. He petted her head and she tried to lick his hand.

"Alright, dinner's in an hour," Alfred's father said, and he and Joyce began to move towards another part of the house.

"Oh, and Alfred," Joyce said, "Some Christmas cards came for you. I put them up in your room."

"Thanks, mom." Alfred turned to Arthur. "Come on, let's get you settled."

They picked up their luggage and carried them up the stairs. Alfred acted like his suitcases weighed nothing, though Arthur knew better. _What can he possibly have in there? _he wondered for at least the third time. "My room's over here," Alfred said, gesturing with his chin. "Then we can pick a guest room for you." Arthur nodded and followed Alfred into a room that clearly had not been changed in the slightest since he left for university.

Posters papered the walls. A cluttered desk was pressed against the wall underneath a cork board that was covered with scraps of paper. There were three bookshelves in the room, and two of them were fully occupied by comic books. Alfred's bed cover was midnight blue and decorated with the solar system.

Alfred set down his suitcases and showed Arthur into the room beside his. He almost sighed in relief; it was tastefully decorated and extremely neat. "Does this look okay?" Alfred asked, looking worried. "There are bigger rooms down the hall, but I don't want you to be too far away."

"This looks perfect," Arthur assured him, and set down his suitcase.

"Great. The bathroom's across the hall. Feel free to change or whatever. I'm going to unpack some stuff."

Alfred left and Arthur sat down on the bed with a sigh. He was exhausted, and Alfred's house was just too much. _He doesn't even have any siblings; how can his family leave me feeling so worn out? _he wondered. He unzipped his suitcase. Pulling out a clean set of clothes and his toiletries, he headed for the bathroom.

He emerged a few minutes later, feeling rejuvenated. He went to Alfred's room and leaned against the doorframe. Alfred looked up from his unpacking and grinned. He stood up and gave Arthur a kiss. Arthur blushed; even kissing in his house felt a misdemeanour somehow.

"Just hang out for a sec. I'm looking for this one jacket I know I brought. . . ."

"Okay." Arthur eyed Alfred's desk, and when Alfred didn't object, he poked through the pile of papers and books and magazines. They mostly seemed to be about sports. The Christmas cards his mom had mentioned had been lined up at the back of the desk. There were four of them. Arthur picked one up. "Dear Alfred, Happy Holidays, from Aunt Savannah," it said. He looked through the others. Three were from relatives or friends of family, it seemed, and were all somewhat impersonal, but the fourth was different. It had a polar bear on the front, underneath which was printed "Wishing you joy in this holiday season" in silver letters. The inside was filled with gentle handwriting. It was slightly feminine and was written very lightly, but it had strong, elegant lines to it.

_Dear Alfred,_

_I hope this finds you well. Your mother tells me you are still in New York, but I sent this here because I know you'll be home for the holidays. We'll have a white Christmas here, as always; you really should experience one once. Please send me news; I haven't heard from you for a while. (Oh, and the polar bears are fine. I know because I asked them personally.)_

_I sent your present separately. It is handmade. This should complete the set. _

_Merry Christmas,_

_Matthew_

Arthur put the card down carefully. Alfred looked up. "That's the one from Matt, right?"

"Yes. Who is he?"

"Childhood friend. He was my neighbour for a long time, but he moved away to Canada just before high school."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "The polar bears?"

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, we have this joke going. When he told me he was moving I thought it was way unfair because he'd be hanging out with the polar bears. Every year I ask him how they're doing."

"Ah." Arthur thought of the careful wording, the thoughtfulness of it all. "He seems to care about you a lot."

"Yeah, we were very close."

_How close? _Arthur couldn't help wondering. Alfred seemed to notice he was distracted and patted the ground next to him. Arthur sat down and looked at him. _Did he see in you what I see in you? _It was strange; it was like Alfred had another life here.

"Can you believe it? Tomorrow's Christmas eve."

"That is strange." Arthur leaned in to him a little. "I hope all my packages reached Britain safely."

"Do all your brothers meet at your parents' for Christmas?"

"Sometimes, sometimes not. They all have families of their own. I guess I'm a late bloomer."

A worried look crossed Alfred's face. "They don't think you should have one too, do they? Your mom isn't trying to marry you off or anything, is she?"

Arthur smiled. "No, she's not. They gave up on my love life a long time ago. Don't worry."

"Okay." Alfred squeezed his hand. "I don't think you're a late bloomer."

"Thanks, I suppose."

"I like you here with me."

Arthur looked at him. "I like it here with you, too."

"Good." Alfred hugged him tightly. "If you were off married somewhere, I never would have met you."

"Nonsense. Don't think about it to hard," he said sternly, wondering if Alfred realised that would never have happened, but he was touched by the desperate tone in Alfred's voice. He patted his back. "I _did _meet you," he said more softly, "So it's alright."

"Yeah."

"Dinner, boys!" came a voice from downstairs. Alfred helped Arthur up, his face still serious, but he seemed to quickly forget about his sadness when he smelled the food. The table was set out with enough food for seven people, Arthur thought, but Alfred always ate enough for three. They said a quick grace (_Oh, they are religious? _Arthur though; he had never asked) and then dug in. The food was rich and they insisted that Arthur eat more than he could handle, but it was good. When Alfred served up the apple pie, he did have to admit that it was delicious, and said so. Alfred grinned as if it were a compliment to him personally. There was talk of watching a movie, but even Alfred was starting to look as though he might fall asleep on his feet. The "boys" were shooed up to bed, and Arthur obeyed gladly. He had just settled himself under the covers when Alfred knocked on his door and peered in.

"Hey," he said. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Arthur said, struggling to sit up. Alfred shook his head and crawled into bed beside him. Arthur felt a little panicked, but Alfred didn't seem interested in doing anything besides cuddling.

"What do you think?"

Arthur knew he meant his family. "They're nice. I like them." He thought a moment. "I didn't know your house was this big."

"Yeah. Too big?"

"A bit," Arthur admitted.

"Yeah." Alfred put an arm over him and sighed into his hair. "I wouldn't want a place this big. We should get something a bit smaller."

Arthur stared at the ceiling, uncertain if he had heard him correctly; as he became more tired, Alfred apparently also became less coherent. Arthur also desperately did not want to misinterpret him.

"Whaddya think?" Alfred yawned widely. "We could get a little house on the edge of a city or something, maybe a little in the country. With a flower garden for you."

"And a cat," Arthur said tentatively.

"And a cat," Alfred confirmed. He yawned again. "No dog?"

"Maybe. I like your dog."

Alfred grunted. "S'would be nice."

"Yeah," Arthur said, gently kissing his forehead. "Yeah, it would be."

But Alfred was already fast asleep.


	9. Christmas

_Chapter 9: Christmas _

* * *

When Arthur woke on the morning of Christmas Eve, he thought at first that he was in his own bed, because why else would Alfred be pressed against him? He was disoriented for a moment, but then he remembered, and practically shot out of bed. "Alfred," he hissed.

"Mm?" Alfred said, and snuggled closer.

"Alfred! You're supposed to be in your own room. Get up!"

"What?" Alfred opened his eyes and squinted at him.

"What if your parents come up here to wake you up? They'll see!"

"So what," Alfred mumbled, and buried his face in Arthur's waist.

"This isn't – proper," Arthur said, trying half-heartedly to push him away. Alfred just put both arms around his waist and clung all the more tightly. "So help me God, if your parents think we've had sex in their house, I will leave and never come back."

Alfred looked up. "Wait, we _can't?_" he wailed.

"You're acting like a teenager," Arthur told him crossly. "Of course we can't. And you can wait. You'll survive."

"But it's _five days!_" Arthur just looked at him. "Okay, okay." Alfred patted around on the side table until he found his glasses. He kissed Arthur – a long, lingering kiss that made Arthur not mind him being there so much – and then put on his glasses and slipped out of bed. "I'll use the shower first," he said, and left.

Arthur considering lying back down in bed, but he knew he should get up. By the time Alfred was out of the shower, Arthur had unpacked as much as he was going to and had neatly arranged his books on the bedside table. Alfred looked impressed. "Shower's free."

Arthur looked up. "Thanks."

They had pancakes for breakfast, with maple syrup and whipped cream. All the sugar nearly made him gag, but he decided that it really wasn't half bad. When they were done, Alfred showed him around the yard ("Are there actually flowers blooming?" Arthur asked, shocked. "Yeah, dude, it's the rainy season," Alfred told him. "We don't get snow here.") and then they spent the rest of the day cooking. Arthur found himself relaxed despite the work. He felt like he was part of Alfred's family. They watched a western movie for Arthur's benefit, as if he had never seen an American movie before, and then went to bed. Arthur thought about putting his present for Alfred under the tree (which was at least 12 feet tall and covered with lights and mismatched ornaments), but he decided that he would prefer to give it to him in private. He convinced Alfred to sleep in his own bed that night, and read a little before he fell asleep.

Alfred woke him up with a kiss the next morning. "What time is?" Arthur asked groggily.

"6:30," Alfred replied happily. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you too," Arthur mumbled. Alfred tried to get him to come downstairs in his pyjamas, but Arthur refused. He tried to change quickly, though, and when he was done Alfred grabbed his hand and practically pulled him down the stairs. "How long have you been up?" Arthur asked.

"Since 5. I've already checked out all the presents. There are only two I'm not sure about," he said, grinning.

Alfred's parents had apparently already been woken up, as they were sitting in the living room drinking coffee in their robes. Alfred seated himself on the floor, and Arthur joined him. The dog came over and sniffed at Arthur. He patted its head and it curled up between him and Alfred. Alfred began to pick presents out from under the tree and assign them to their respective recipients. "Mom and dad," he said, throwing it in their direction. "Alfred, Mom and dad again, Arthur." He tossed it at Arthur and he caught it automatically.

"Excuse me?" Arthur said, staring at Alfred in surprise.

Alfred smiled at him. "It's from me. You can open it later or whatever, but you should have it."

"Oh," Arthur said, feeling bad that his gift for Alfred was still upstairs. He held it gingerly in his lap as Alfred distributed the rest of the gifts.

" – and Arthur."

Arthur turned bright red as he caught this one. "It's from us," Joyce said with a smile.

"Oh," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"And two more for Alfred!" he cried gleefully. "I'll start." Alfred ripped the paper away and dealt with the tape on the box expertly. "Books from Aunt Jenna," Alfred said, and put them aside. He looked impatiently at his mother, and after she and his father had each had a turn, they all looked at Arthur expectantly. He flushed and ripped away the red paper from the gift from Alfred's parents.

"I know we haven't known you that long," Joyce said, "but, well, Alfred's never brought any of his boyfriends home before. We figure you deserve a little something."

Arthur gently took the lid off the small box. Inside was a traveling book light. It wasn't something Arthur needed, but the gesture meant a lot to him.

"I told them you liked to read," Alfred said.

Arthur nodded. "Thank you," he said to his parents with feeling. He put it back in its box and watched as Alfred ripped open another present.

After a few cycles, Alfred came to a box wrapped in dark blue paper covered with delicate silver designs. He glanced at the label. "Ah! Matty!" he exclaimed with a smile, and tore it open. Arthur glanced at his parents; they were smiling too. Arthur watched closely as Alfred unwrapped a long, knitted scarf. It was midnight blue and had a delicate pattern of snowflakes at each end.

"It matches your hat and mittens, doesn't it?" Alfred's father asked.

"Yup," Alfred said, and put it in his mother's outstretched hand. She admired it and handed it back.

"What is he going to give you for Christmas now?" she asked with a laugh. "Matching socks?"

Arthur asked to have a look at it, and Alfred handed it to him casually. "So by handmade, he meant that he made it?" he asked, examining it, trying to see past the stitches. _It must have taken him a long time._ He looked at the wrapping paper. _And everything matches? He must be a very thoughtful person. I'm not this dedicated. _

"Yeah, he's always been modest like that. He always makes me something." Arthur handed it back to him and he tossed it in the pile with his other gifts. Arthur frowned.

"I miss that boy," Joyce said. "You were like brothers."

"My first crush," he said with a smile at Arthur. Arthur started, forgetting for a moment that he could say something like that here.

"It's a pity he moved before you told him," Joyce said. Alfred shrugged. Arthur looked at him, suddenly seeing him in a new light. _Does he regret it? _Suddenly he felt out of place in this family. He was aware of how much he didn't know about Alfred, about all the experiences he had had that he knew nothing about. He pulled into himself and watched as everyone began to gather up the scraps of wrapping paper. He looked down; Alfred's present to him was still in his lap.

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he murmured. "You can unwrap it upstairs." He led Arthur back to his room. He sat down on his bed and patted the spot next to him, but Arthur left the present there and disappeared into his own room. He returned with his own present for Alfred, two small boxes neatly tied together with a ribbon.

"You go first," Alfred said.

"No, you," Arthur said with a smile, because he could tell Alfred was dying to open his present. Alfred didn't protest. He happily undid the ribbon and popped open the smaller of the two boxes.

Arthur watched his face closely. It was puzzled for a moment as he held up the plain key to the light, but then he smiled in that way that made Arthur's heart feel as though it would burst. He pulled Arthur close to him, and Arthur smiled into his shoulder. "It's to your apartment, right?" Alfred said. Arthur just nodded. Alfred released him, and kissed him, and stuffed the key in his pocket. Arthur wanted to protest, but Alfred always kept his keys there and never seemed to loose them. "It's perfect." He couldn't seem to stop smiling as he picked up the second box and unwrapped it. It was a thin white box, and inside was a white collared shirt. It had been expensive, and the tissue paper that it was wrapped in was decorated with the company's logo. Alfred tore through it without a second glance and Arthur winced. Alfred's smile disappeared and was replaced with an expression of puzzlement as he saw the shirt and picked it up, a little gingerly. He turned it this way and that, his brows furrowed. Finally he gave up and raised his eyebrows at Arthur with an apologetic smile. "Sorry man, I don't know what this one means."

"It means we're going to go out to dinner somewhere nice one of these days, and you'll need something to wear," Arthur told him in a reprimanding tone. "Your golf shirts don't cut it."

"Aw, man," Alfred said with a grin. He gave Arthur another hug. "You may be weird, but I like you."

"Thanks," Arthur said dryly, and returned the hug. When they parted he picked up his own present and undid the wrapping paper. Inside the box were two books and a very small bag. He took out the first book and flipped it over. It was a book he had never heard of – some kind of mystery novel, it seemed – which he was pretty sure Alfred had picked completely randomly. The second one, though, caught his eye.

"It's a collection of myths from the US," Alfred said. "I had a hard time finding one that wasn't all ghosts, but this seems to have some other kinds of stories in it. I noticed you have a lot of stuff like that from Britain, but none from other countries."

"Yeah, thanks," Arthur said, a little surprised that Alfred had noticed. He flipped through the pages. "It looks really interesting." Alfred just grinned and gestured towards the last thing in the box. Arthur picked up the small drawstring bag and dumped its contents into his palm. A small, smooth stone fell out. It was a pretty grey-lavender colour with a smoky surface, and wire had been wrapped around it in a swirling design. It was probably intended as a pendant on a necklace, but it made a nice keepsake.

"The guy at the shop said it was a magical stone," Alfred said, sounding embarrassed. "I don't believe him or anything, but he said it was from England. It just seemed like something you might like."

Arthur looked at it again. _A little piece of home. _He closed his fist around it and smiled. "It's very pretty. You're right, I do like stuff like this."

Alfred looked relieved. "Cool."

Arthur kissed him gently. "Thank you very much," he whispered softly.

"You're welcome," Alfred whispered back, looking earnestly at Arthur with his big, blue eyes. Arthur felt completely, utterly relaxed.

Unfortunately, that was the last time he felt that way for the rest of the day.

* * *

At about three in the afternoon, the guests started arriving. Arthur suddenly wished that he had been paying attention to Alfred on the plane, because he was quickly drowning in names and faces. Alfred was the only thing that kept him afloat, never leaving his side, always smiling and talking and making sure (whether purposefully or not) that Arthur never had to do more than say his name and smile. Arthur wanted to retreat to the kitchen, but that would mean being separated from Alfred, and as he glanced in that room he noticed that it was full of people, too. When it was finally time for dinner, Arthur found himself seated between Alfred and a four-year-old girl with brown hair. When he asked, she told him her name was Suzie.

"That's a nice name," he said, because Alfred was talking to his relatives and he did not have anyone else to talk to.

"Thank you," Suzie said, looking at him with large, unblinking brown eyes.

"I'm Arthur."

"Hello," she said. "Are you Alfred's boyfriend?"

"Er," Arthur said, nearly dropping his fork.

"That's what my mom said."

"Yes," he said. "I am."

"Oh," she said, and returned to her food.

Arthur lasted about another five minutes of eating with his eyes carefully focused on his plate before anyone tried to talk to him.

"So Arthur," Joyce said, who was sitting across from Alfred, "My sister just asked me how you and Alfred met, and I realised that I don't know."

"Oh, I see," Arthur said, and nudged Alfred with his toe.

"What?" said Alfred, spinning around, and then he caught on. "Oh, yeah. We met at a club."

_You were supposed to come up with something less embarrassing! _Arthur thought, but gave Joyce a strained smile of agreement. "Oh," she said, directing her attention to Alfred with a slight frown. "What kind of club?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, a normal one?" He turned back to his previous conversation and ignored the two of them.

The woman next to Joyce, who Arthur assumed was her sister, leaned towards him with a smile. "Did our Alfred get picked up by an Englishman? How lucky."

"Other way around, actually," he said, and tried to look very interested in his food.

"Oh really?" she said with a grin. She apparently prodded Alfred under the table, because he looked around again. "I hear you picked up your boyfriend."

Alfred grinned back. "Yup."

"I didn't know you were into older men," she said with a wink.

"Speaking of," Joyce said, looking interested, "how much older _is _he, exactly?"

"Mom," Alfred said, finally looking embarrassed. "Don't be rude."

"I'm just curious," she said defensively.

Alfred's father, who was sitting directly across from Arthur, turned towards their conversation as well. "I've been wondering that too," he said seriously, pointing at Alfred with his fork.

"Dad," he whined. "Stop it."

"Alfred, we do still have an interest in your future. We want to know these things," said Joyce.

Arthur had gone pale and was having a hard time eating. Alfred was still shovelling down food, but he was starting to look a little bit angry. Alfred's father turned towards Arthur. "How long have you been living in the US?" he asked, apparently thinking he was changing the topic.

"Seven years," Arthur said, trying to come across as calm and in control.

"What did you move for?"

"Work." Alfred's father looked at him in a strange way before nodding and returning to his food. Arthur realised his mistake a moment too late; if he had moved for work seven years ago, he was probably at least 29. He could feel anger working its way up his spine. _Why do I have to put up with this? This is Alfred's family, not mine. What does it matter what I do with my life? _He jabbed viciously at a stray piece of potato.

"Arthur," said Alfred's voice, quietly. He looked up. "Would you like some bread?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said, and took a piece. Alfred's hand brushed against his in a way that didn't seem accidental, and Arthur looked up. Alfred gave him a little smile and mouthed, "It's okay." Arthur nodded in answer and returned to his food. As they neared the end of dinner, Arthur heard a sigh and his name. He looked up and saw Joyce looking at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," she said. "Alfred has just never –"

"Mom, don't make it sound like it's my fault. It doesn't matter how old he is!"

"Alfred, we know you're out of college, but we're still your parents," his father said sternly. "We're just looking out for you."

"I can look out for myself just fine," Alfred said, looking really angry. "He –"

"It's alright," Arthur said quickly, and he stood up. He picked up his plate and examined the tablecloth closely. "I'm 33." He disappeared into the kitchen, and didn't come out for a long time.

When Alfred walked into the kitchen with his own plate, he found him leaning against the counter with a glass of water. "Enjoying yourself okay?"

"Yeah," Arthur said, not meeting his eyes.

"Cool," Alfred said happily, and put his plate in the dishwasher.

When it was time for dessert, Arthur found himself in the same place. He carefully avoided looking at either of Alfred's parents, and they didn't make an effort to talk to him. He saw the little girl looking at him and smiled at her. "Doing okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "You're old. You're older than my _mom._"

"Heh, is that right?" Arthur asked with a strained smile, trying not to be too injured. _She's four, it's fine. It's not like she's really judging you. _The girl's mother had heard the comment and told her not to be rude. She insisted she hadn't been being rude, she had been telling the _truth. _Arthur smiled at the mother and told her that really, he didn't mind. She apologised for her daughter anyway.

After dessert everyone sat about and talked for a long time. Arthur found a spot on a couch and sat down, trying to not look too tired. Alfred found him after a while and plopped down beside him with a sigh. "Long night, huh?"

"Yeah," Arthur said.

"Hey, what's up?" Alfred asked, leaning forward with a worried look in his eyes. "You've been seeming kind of down."

"It's nothing," Arthur said. Just then a relative of some kind spotted Alfred and made a beeline for him. Arthur got up subtly and left. Alfred was already too busy talking to notice.

The living room was mostly empty. The golden retriever had apparently also had enough of the party, because she was stretched out next to the Christmas tree. Arthur squatted down beside her with a smile and patted her head. "Hey girl, you worn out too?" She panted at him happily and nosed at his hand for more. He settled down beside her and began to stroke her head. "Well, my boyfriend has forgotten about me. I guess you don't really have that problem." She rested her nose on his leg with a sigh. "Though, I don't know. Do people forget you sometimes?" He was suddenly aware of footsteps nearby and looked up. It was the little girl, Suzie, again. She came and stood in front of him, hands clasped in front of her. She was looking at him seriously. He stilled his hand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was rude to call people old," she told him. "I won't call you old again."

He looked up and saw her mother standing in the neighbouring room. When she saw him looking she turned away. "Thank you," he said, looking at Suzie just as seriously. "I accept your apology."

She nodded once and crouched down beside the dog, as if the formalities had been taken care of. She fearlessly let the dog sniff her fingers and then began to pet her side. Arthur watched her in silence. _Things make so much more sense with children, _he thought. _Everything is so straight-forward. _

"My mom said you're from England, where you have real tea parties," she said suddenly. "She also said that some people have tea with the Queen." She hesitated. "You haven't had tea with the Queen, have you?"

"No, I haven't," he said, trying not to smile. "Do you have tea parties?"

"Yes, but not real ones," she said condescendingly. "Just pretend."

"Right," he said, and this time he couldn't help smiling.

She looked down at the dog. "My mom says that maybe the next time we see you, you could come to my tea party."

"I would like that," he said kindly. She nodded.

"Come on sweetheart, we should get going," her mother called. "Say goodbye."

"Goodbye," Suzie said.

Arthur stood up. "Goodbye," he returned, and watched her run off. He spotted Alfred nearby, shaking hands and hugging and saying goodbyes. Alfred saw him watching smiled. He managed to separate himself from the crowd and made his way over to Arthur.

He crouched down next to him and petted the dog. "I saw you talking to Suzie. You're good with kids."

Arthur smiled. "Yeah, I like her. She seems like a good kid."

"Do you want kids?"

Arthur looked up, wondering if Alfred meant that he did and ready to become panicked, but the worried expression on Alfred's face made him laugh. "No, not really. I was serious about the cat, though."

"Oh, okay," Alfred said, looking a little relieved. "You like animals?" He gestured at the dog.

Arthur looked at her with a smile. "Yeah, I do like animals. I wish my apartment complex would let me have them."

Alfred stood up and offered him a hand. He reluctantly took it. Alfred headed back to the crowd of people and Arthur followed. He joined Alfred in offering the occasional smile and wave to all these people he didn't know. When the last person had finally left and Alfred's mother closed the door behind them, Alfred put an arm around Arthur and fell against him with a heavy sigh. Arthur looked at him in surprise and then put an arm around him awkwardly.

"If you help me clear the rest of the table, you can get to bed," Joyce told him, and Alfred pulled back reluctantly.

"I know, I know," he said, and stumbled off to clear the last of the dessert dishes. Arthur watched him, slightly concerned. _He was so cheerful a minute ago. What happened? _He helped do the last of the cleaning up, and once they were finished Alfred immediately dragged him off to bed. "You're sleeping with me tonight," Alfred told him firmly once they were upstairs. "I don't care if it's your bed or mine, but I'm not letting you go."

"Okay," Arthur said, eyeing his dazed look and slumped shoulders. "Why are you suddenly so tired? You were so energetic a half an hour ago."

"Eh, whatever," he mumbled as he disappeared into his room to find his pyjamas. "I was just being nice."

"You really care that much about what other people think?" he asked as Alfred headed for the bathroom.

"I wouldn't say _that,_" Alfred said over his shoulder. The door clicked shut.

"Huh," Arthur said, a teasing smile forming on his face. "Imagine that."

* * *

_Author's note: _Nom nom. Sorry for all the OCs. I hate OCs in stories like this, ugh, but they just seemed necessary. Next chapter should be better. -.-'


	10. Just Thought I'd Let You Know

_Chapter 10: Just Thought I'd Let You Know_

* * *

The next two days passed in a haze. The day after Christmas, Alfred's father pulled Arthur aside in a brief moment when Alfred was occupied. "I'm sorry about dinner last night," he said, clearly a little embarrassed. "We're used to knowing all his friends right off the bat, and we forget he's not a kid anymore, so –" He took a deep breath. "He just seems pretty serious about you. We don't want him to get hurt."

"I understand," Arthur said. "I'm sorry to cause any problems."

"No, it's fine. I can tell you have good intentions." He smiled nervously and gave Arthur a pat on the back. He left, and Alfred came back, but Arthur kept thinking about what he had said. _Good intentions . . ._

Their last night there, they were sitting at dinner when Alfred suddenly set down his glass and exclaimed, "Oh! I totally forgot to tell you!" Everyone looked up. "I got a new job!"

"Oh, that's wonderful!" said Joyce.

"What is it?" asked his father.

Arthur dropped his fork with a clatter.

"It's with an advertising company, just doing busy work and stuff, but it's something, right?" Alfred grinned, proud of himself.

"When does it start?" asked his father.

"Alfred," Arthur said slowly, and everyone looked at him. "When did you loose your job?"

There was silence for a moment. "What, I never told you?" Alfred asked, surprised. "I lost it, like, two months ago. It's great I found another one so soon."

"We've been dating for more than two months," Arthur said, trying not to sound too pathetic. "You didn't think to tell me?"

"Well . . . we'd just started dating, and I didn't want sound like I needed money," Alfred said lamely.

"Did you?"

Alfred's father cleared his throat, and he discreetly picked up his plate and left the room. Joyce immediately followed suit. Arthur's gaze didn't leave Alfred. Alfred squirmed slightly in his seat. "Nah, my parents sent me a little. I've been in debt to them for forever, like, since I bought my first bike, so it wasn't a big deal." He laughed a little, nervously.

"So you feel okay asking your parents for help, but not me?" Arthur's eyebrows were becoming dangerously furrowed.

"Artie, it's not like that." Alfred leaned forward across the table.

"Don't call me Artie," Arthur snapped, flushing with anger and embarrassment. "We split dinner evenly, every time. If I had known–!"

"I didn't ask them for the money, they just sent it to me! And I had some unemployment. It was fine."

Arthur could feel the anger building up. _It's not worth it._ He picked up his plate and stood up. "Congratulations on your new job," he said stiffly, and left.

That night, Alfred came into Arthur's room. Arthur put down his book and looked up. Alfred sat down on the edge of his bed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have told you."

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten angry. I do wish you had told me, though."

Alfred hugged him and Arthur stroked his hair. "I like you," Alfred mumbled into the crook of his neck.

"I like you too," Arthur said softly. Alfred hugged him more tightly. "So we leave tomorrow," Arthur said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah." Alfred pulled back and looked at him. "Would you like to watch the ball drop in Times Square with me?"

Arthur smiled. "Sure."

Alfred smiled in return. "Great." He gave Arthur a quick kiss. "I should let you get to sleep."

"Alright. Sleep well."

"You too. Goodnight."

Arthur switched off the light and went to sleep.

* * *

The trip back to New York went by much more quickly than Arthur had been expecting ("My God, Alfred, does your country have to be so big?" he did grumble once, though; Alfred just laughed). He managed to sleep through most of it – with his head on Alfred's shoulder, he found to his embarrassment when he woke, and drooling no less. The old lady next to them, luckily, seemed to be absorbed in her crossword puzzle, and Alfred was still passed out, so hopefully no one had noticed. Arthur cleared his throat and pulled out a book.

Reading and talking ate up the rest of the time easily. At one point while Arthur was reading, he saw Alfred take his keys out of his pocket and fiddle with his keychain, trying to put Arthur's key on it with the rest. After he finished, he held it in his hand, and seemed to be thinking very deeply for a long time. Eventually he roused himself and tucked it back in his pocket. Arthur subtly returned to his book.

When they got off the plane, an exhausted-looking Kiku was waiting to meet them. "Hey man!" Alfred said excitedly. "What's up?"

"I recently got back from my own vacation," he said tiredly. "I have not had much sleep. And Ivan and Yao are fighting again. I do not know why."

"Sounds like the usual," Alfred said with a grin, and slung an arm around him. "We had a great time."

Kiku sighed. "That's good."

They all walked to the car through the snow. Arthur looked around and realised he had missed this place.

It was nice to be home.

When Kiku stopped the car in front of Arthur's flat, Alfred jumped out and helped him get his suitcase out of the back. Arthur reached for it, but Alfred shook his head. "I got it," he said happily, and followed Arthur up the stairs to his door. Arthur found himself dragging his feet. What time was it supposed to be again? It felt like midnight, but the sun was shining outside. He unlocked his apartment wearily and Alfred dumped the suitcase by the door.

"I'll talk to you later," Arthur said, expecting Alfred to be jumping out the door in excitement to be home.

Instead, he was just standing there, looking at him. There was a slight smile on his face, and his head was tilted just a bit to the side. "I guess I should be going," he said, and didn't move.

"Yeah," Arthur said, wondering what this was about.

Alfred raised a hand to his cheek, touching it lightly, and then dropped it. "I love you," he said quietly, that slight smile still on his face, touching his eyes, his voice gentle. Arthur's heart began to beat faster. There was no doubt from his tone of voice, from his manner, that the emotion behind those words was genuine. He knew he should say something, but couldn't think of anything to say. He could feel himself flushing, but from embarrassment or panic, he wasn't sure. Alfred put his hands in his pockets and turned towards the door, still smiling, but somehow differently, as if Arthur had let him down. "Yeah, Kiku's waiting. I'll drop by tomorrow. Oh, and can you make scones? That would be awesome." He grinned and gave Arthur a quick kiss, back to his old self. Arthur tried to nod, but it came out barely perceptible. Alfred waved as he walked out the door, leaving Arthur feeling absolutely, completely bewildered.

* * *

Arthur woke up tired. He had not slept well, and the jet-lag was affecting him in a bad way. He grumbled and tried to sleep in for once, but gave up after half an hour with a sigh. He spent the rest of the morning lazing about, but by mid-afternoon he had decided he should do something. He was just putting the second batch of scones in the oven when someone knocked on the door. "Come in," he called.

"Hey," Alfred said, closing the door behind him. A smile lit up his face and he walked over to the counter with an extra bounce in his step. "You _are _making them!"

"Well, you asked," Arthur said, turning away to hide an automatic smile.

"Are they done yet?"

"Yes, but they just came out of the oven, so they're hot. Tsk, _Alfred!_"

"What?" Alfred asked around a mouthful of scone.

Arthur put his hands on his hips and gave him a half-hearted glare. "I was just going to tell you to _not _touch them."

"Too late," Alfred mumbled. He swallowed and took another bite. "They're good hot."

"If you say so," Arthur said.

Alfred leaned over the counter and pecked him on the cheek. "I do."

"Alright, alright." Arthur blushed. He took off his apron and set it on the counter. "They'll be in the oven for a bit, so don't let me forget them." He led Alfred over to the couch and sat down with a heavy sigh. Alfred put an arm around him and kissed his temple. Arthur tried to retain his composure, but he could feel it slipping away from him. Alfred kissed him again. Arthur closed his eyes and leaned against his shoulder, feeling the tension drain from him. _This is nice. Just this. _

"So, I talked to Kiku and them about New Years'."

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking we could go out to dinner before, and then there's going to be a big party until midnight that you can come to at my place. And then at like 11, Ivan and Kiku and Yao are up for coming with us to see the ball drop! Normally we just watch it on TV, but they'd love to see it for real, so I figured we could all go together."

"I thought you said we were going to go together, just the two of us." He cleared his throat and furrowed his eyebrows at his hands, which were clasped together in his lap.

"What? Oh, well, we'll still have some time together after. We could come back here and have celebratory scones or something." He grinned.

"Am I going as your date?" Arthur sat up slowly, meeting Alfred's eyes.

"Heh, oh, well," Alfred said with an apologetic smile. "I haven't really gotten around to telling them yet. I mean, yeah, of course you'll be my date, but I was figuring we could just kind of not mention it."

Arthur pulled away and Alfred released his arm. "I'm not going if I'm not your date."

"Look, it's not that big a deal," Alfred said weakly. "It would just be awkward to come out to them like that, you know? I live with them and stuff."

"And you don't live with me at least half the days of the week?"

"Come on, Arthur, it's different," he said. "You get it, right?"

"No, I don't get it," he snapped. "I don't understand why you think I'm not good enough to tell your friends about. First you don't want me to meet them at all, and now you do, but only if I lie?"

"It's not lying! You just don't say anything! It's not that big a deal."

"Of course it's lying!"

"Yeah? So I've been lying by – by not telling you that your scones taste bad?"

"What?" Arthur exclaimed. "You asked me to make them!"

"Yeah, but I didn't know they were going to be so dry!"

"Oh, so they're _dry?_"he cried. "What does it matter? The food you eat is crap!"

"It's not crap." Alfred was frowning. "I know it's bad for me, but what do you care? At least it tastes good!"

"What do _I _care? Yeah, why would I care about you, huh? It's not like I've been putting up with all this stuff to make happy!"

"What? How has that been happening?" Alfred cried, easily matching Arthur's volume. "What have you been putting up with?"

Arthur stood up, and Alfred followed suit. "Dealing with your family for four days, for one thing!" Alfred looked stunned, and Arthur immediately regretted saying it. "And – and you thinking that some _job _is going to be the best thing that ever happened to you. You think that now that you have a real job everything is going to be better?" Arthur's face was quickly turn red from the anger.

"Hey, it's not my first real job! I got paid for working at the comic book store, and McDonald's!"

"Yeah, minimum wage!"

"So what?" Alfred looked angry.

"_So, _it's not exactly good enough for you to buy a _Mustang. _Did your parents buy that for you, too?"

"What? The down payment was a graduation present! I still pay the monthly bill!"

"Yeah, with what? Borrowed money? You don't know what it's like to support yourself."

"So what do you want? For me to be more independent? That's what I'm _trying _to do!"

"I want you to be more responsible for your own actions. You're lazing around, thinking you can rely on your parents' money and the fact that your 'friends' don't know anything about you!"

"Yeah, because you've told me so much about you? There are like 20 years of your life that I know nothing about. I don't know what your childhood was like, I don't know what your past relationships were like, and I barely even know what you do at work. What have you been doing with your life?"

"Nothing, Alfred!" Arthur yelled. "_Nothing!_ Do you know how long I've been stuck stacking papers at this company? Since you were _seventeen. _When I was seventeen, you were _seven years old. _You want to hear about my past relationships? They ended, that's it, and that's all you need to know!" 

Alfred's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Yeah? And when I'm in my 50s, you'll be a _senior._ You'll be about to _retire._ You were right, you are too old for me! And all those failed relationships? Probably your fault."

"Yeah? So what makes this one different?"

"Well, it's just a matter of time, right?" Alfred was glowering at him. "That's what you think, isn't it? What does it matter that I love you?" Arthur winced. "Is that the problem? You don't believe I love you?"

"Alfred, I don't want to talk about this."

"Not talk about this? When do you want to talk about it, then? I tell you I love you, which you should already know, and you start acting weird. What's up with that?"

"It's not something you should say casually."

Alfred laughed, humourlessly. "We've been having sex for kind of a while now. You think this is casual? You think this isn't a good time to be talking about emotional stuff? Don't you think we should have talked about this _before _–?"

"Shut up." Arthur closed his eyes, feeling fury wash over him. _How did I mess this up? How can he blame me for messing this up? _Arthur opened his eyes. "No, I don't think this is casual." _I've never wanted casual. _

"So, do you think I'm lying to you? Do you not love me back? What is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"How can it not matter?" Alfred cried. "How can you say that?"

"Being in love doesn't change anything," Arthur said, roughly. "It doesn't matter, so don't say it like it does."

Alfred whacked his fist against the couch. Arthur stiffened but stood his ground. "How can you say that?" Alfred looked the angriest Arthur had ever seen him. "I thought you understood, but I guess I was wrong." He took a step back from Arthur – _Disgusted with me, _Arthur though. _Because he's the one who doesn't understand. _

"Yeah?" Arthur took a step towards Alfred, forcing him to take another one back. Arthur had not felt this angry in a long, long time. "Then get out."

"No."

Arthur took another step forward and Alfred took another one back. "It's my flat. Get out." He kept walking forward and Alfred kept backing up until he was against the door. Alfred glared at him. Arthur just glared back. "If thinking you know so much more than me, get out."

"Fine," Alfred snapped. He opened the door and stepped into the hall.

"I want the key back."

"Take it." Alfred took his keys out of his pocket and struggled angrily with the key ring for a minute. "Fuck this, I don't need these anyway," he said finally, and threw the keys at Arthur's feet.

Arthur picked them up and slammed the door in Alfred's face.

* * *

_Author's note: _:3 This is the third fic I've written for these two, and the second one where they've gone at each other like this. I guess it says something about how I see these two (that is, unable to communicate very well, lol) or what I like writing. -.-'

I thought the chapter title was appropriate in general, but it also comes from the country song "Just Thought I'd Let You Know" by Carl and Pearl Butler, which includes this stanza:

_I did just like you're doing now  
I know I hurt her so  
And that's why she walked out on me  
Just thought I'd let you know._

(There's also a song called "Thought I'd Let You Know," apparently, which is by Finn Wallace and a much happier song.)


	11. Red Roses

_Chapter 11: Red Roses_

* * *

Alfred went home angry, stomped around the house a little, and then decided the whole thing had been a bit silly. He called Arthur that night to clear things up. Arthur gave him a few choice remarks and hung up. Alfred waited a day, and then called again. Arthur didn't answer, and he didn't answer the time after that, or the time after that. Alfred decided that he should go all out. He went to the florist's and bought a bouquet of a dozen red roses. He picked out a pre-made card ("I'm Sorry" it said in large, scrolling letters) and signed his name in it. He took it all to Arthur's apartment and knocked. He heard footsteps and a pause. "Arthur, it's me, I came to say –"

"Go away," a voice said sharply, and the footsteps receded. Alfred stood a moment, dumbfounded, and then knocked again. Nothing happened. He decided to leave the flowers and the card on his doormat. That evening, figuring Arthur would have seen the flowers and softened a bit, Alfred called him. No one answered. It was New Years' Eve. That night, Alfred sat at home in front of the TV, moping, a little tipsy; he called Arthur around midnight and left messages on his answering machine. His calls were never returned.

He went back to Arthur's apartment two days later with a second bouquet (violets and lilies, this time; he was making random guesses as to what flowers Arthur might like). The roses were still there, wilting. Alfred decided that he probably needed some more time and left the violets without knocking. He resolved to give Arthur five days.

They were the longest five days of his life.

At the end of it, he tried calling again, but there was still no answer. He tried again later. Still no answer. The next day, he decided that something more drastic needed to be done. He paced around his living room, tugging at his hair in exasperation. Some of it came out in his hands and he threw it away in disgust. What had he done to upset Arthur this much? What could he possibly do to make him see reason?

Finally, Alfred pulled out the phonebook, which he had never used before in his life. There was only one _Bonnefoy, Francis, _in New York city. Alfred's fingers trembled as he dialled the number, checking it every few digits. It rang three times, and someone picked up.

"'ello? Francis Bonnefoy."

Alfred resisted the urge to sigh in relief. "Francis, it's Alfred, Arthur's friend. We met –"

"Ah, yes, I remember you. I trust Arthur and you put my car to good use?"

Alfred blinked. "What?"

There was a sigh on the other end. "Never mind. What can I do for you?"

"Um, well, I was wondering – That is, Arthur and I, uh – He hasn't spoken to me in two weeks!"

"If he's gone and broken up with you, I'm not going to try to fix it for you."

"No! That's not it, I'm sure that's not it." Alfred took a deep breath. "We disagreed, it wasn't a big deal, and now he won't pick up the phone, won't answer the door – What if he's _dead?_" Alfred wailed.

There was a pause on the other end. "Flowers?"

"Yes, and he didn't even bring them inside!"

"Red roses?"

"Yes, a dozen. After that I tried violets –"

"No, the roses are his favourite." Another pause. "Two weeks, you said?"

"Yes, almost." Alfred worried the edge of his lip while Francis thought.

"Meet me in front of his building in twenty minutes," Francis said, and hung up the phone.

Alfred was there five minutes early. He paced back and forth in front of the main door. People going in and out gave him odd looks, but he ignored them. A sleek black car he was too distracted to recognise pulled up in front and Francis got out. "Alright," Francis said. "Let's do this."

Alfred followed him up the stairs to Arthur's apartment. The flowers were still there. Dried rose petals littered the ground and the violets were shrivelled up almost beyond recognition. "Hrm," Francis said, and poked them with the tip of his shiny black shoe. Then he knocked. "Arthur," he called, "It's Francis."

"Francis, what the hell are you–" Arthur opened the door and stared. Francis and Alfred stared back. There was a pause.

"You look like shit," Francis said flatly. Alfred almost laughed because the expression sounded so out of place with his French accent, but he didn't laugh, because it was true. Arthur was pale and his hair stuck up at odd angles. It looked as though it hadn't been washed in days. There was a slight shadow above his upper lip and around his jaw that Alfred had never seen before. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up carelessly.

"Arthur–" Alfred began weakly, relieved beyond belief at the sight of him. The sound of his voice seemed to bring Arthur back to his senses. He tried to slam the door, but Francis blocked it with an arm and leg. He winced as the door closed on him and managed to wedge his shoulder in as well. Arthur leaned into it from the other side.

"Get – out!"

_"Non! Ouvre – la porte – maintenant!" _

"I don't speak French, frog!"

"Even you with that English brain of yours should be able to infer (_grunt_) – that I – told you – to open the door!" He gave a great heave as he tried to force the door open. Alfred realised he should probably be helping and threw his shoulder to the door as well. He put his weight into it and the door swung open with a bang as it hit the wall and bounced back. Arthur had backed up into the living room and was glaring at Francis, seemingly having decided to ignore Alfred entirely. Francis shook out his shoulder and panted for breath.

"Not – getting as much – exercise lately, in your old age?" Arthur asked, breathing heavily as well.

"_Non, _more than ever." Francis shook out his hair a bit and closed the door. "Now then –" He pointed to the couch. "Sit." Arthur sat, though the glare he directed at Francis made Alfred shiver.

Alfred looked around. The apartment was the messiest he had ever seen it. Books were strewn on the floor by the coffee table and a shirt was hung over the back of the armchair. A mug with tea dregs at the bottom was sitting on the side table, and another half-full mug was sitting on top of the TV. Dirty dishes cluttered the counter.

Francis had noticed too. He began to inspect the state of the apartment and made a derisive noise, which was soon followed by another when he opened the fridge and peered inside. "Arthur, do you honestly not know how to cook anything besides mashed potatoes and meat pies? And is that green mush supposed to be _peas?_ I can't believe you live like this." He slammed the door shut and spun around to glare at Arthur. "I would cook you a proper meal right now if I thought I would get an ounce of gratitude! If I didn't know better I'd say you were feeling sorry for yourself."

Arthur ground his teeth, still studiously ignoring Alfred. "You're an ass."

Francis didn't deny it. "You're being something of _un âne _yourself. If you want this to work so badly that you're letting yourself live in a pigsty, you should at least bother to listen to what _notre cher _Alfred has to say."

"Hrmph," Arthur said and looked away, his cheeks flushed. Francis raised an eyebrow at Alfred, and he took the hint. He fell on his knees beside the couch and looked up at Arthur.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," Arthur snapped, still looking determinedly towards the window.

Alfred sat back on his knees. "What should I do, then?" he practically cried, at his wit's end.

Arthur's hands were fists in his lap and his lips were tight. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. You deserve someone better than me."

Alfred spluttered. "Wha– I– _Better _than you–?"

"Yes. I've already hurt you, very much intentionally, which you didn't ask for. This will only hurt for a few days, and then it will be over. And if you think I'm being unreasonable, you clearly don't know me very well."

Alfred's eyes were very wide. "I– I– Are you breaking up with me?" His voice cracked.

"_Mon vieux _(my old friend)," Francis said softly, "I didn't know you'd given up on happiness."

Arthur snapped his head around to look at him and his eyes flashed. "I'm not giving up! I'm doing the right thing. This relationship–"

"Is only going nowhere if you end it."

Arthur's mouth tightened and he looked away again. Alfred, for his part, was in shock. Yes, Arthur's long silence had made him worried, but after such a long break from each other he was supposed to see the error of his ways, right? Wasn't he? _What would you do if he left you? What would you do? _he cried out to himself. How could he possibly make Arthur aware of how impossible he found the very idea that they break up? What if _he could never see Arthur again? _It seemed too impossible to contemplate. He just stared at Arthur, open-mouthed, his vision quickly blurring. "Arthur," he finally choked out. "You can't."

"Can't what?" Arthur bit out.

"I think I'll be leaving," Francis said, though neither of them were paying attention. He wandered into Arthur's bedroom. _Maybe I can find a book to read, _he thought. _Or something more interesting to do. _

"Arthur," Alfred said, and took his hand. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. "You can't leave me. You can't leave _us. _We're doing so _well!" _Arthur didn't have the heart to interrupt him."Can't you tell? _I'm desperately in love with you._" A sob escaped him. "I love you so much. How can you think it will only hurt for a _few days?" _He buried his face in Arthur's lap and sobbed as if his heart would break.

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling the tears start. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He leaned over Alfred, stroking his hair, pulling him closer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know. I'm sorry. I won't leave you, it's okay." _Don't cry, please, it hurts. It hurts so much. _Alfred clambered up onto the couch beside him, still sobbing, and clutched him close. "I won't leave you, I promise," Arthur said, and he meant it.

"Okay," Alfred choked out. "Okay." He took a deep breath of the smell of his hair, of his shirt, breathing in Arthur. "Okay. It's all okay."

"Yes." Arthur tried to wipe his eyes on his shirt sleeve so that Alfred wouldn't notice. He did anyway, and pulled back. He smiled, very, very sadly, and gently wiped away Arthur's tears with his thumb. Arthur almost started crying again, seeing Alfred like that: His eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were streaked with tears. But he took a deep breath, holding himself together, and Alfred did the same.

"Okay," Alfred said again. "All over."

"All over," Arthur agreed. "No more of that."

"Right," Alfred said, and pulled him into his arms once again. They held each other for a long time, breathing each other in, until Francis decided it had been quiet for long enough and he could emerge from Arthur's bedroom. He clapped his hands together, making Arthur start and Alfred pull him closer protectively.

"All done with that, then?" Francis asked. Alfred blinked at him, which he took as a yes. Arthur squirmed a little in Alfred's arms, who let him go. "Right then, let's clean up this mess of yours." Arthur looked at Francis, prepared to be offended. Francis raised an eyebrow at him that brooked no argument, and pointed towards the bathroom. "Shower. Now. And shave that stubble off while you're at it; it looks terrible." Arthur huffed and went to do as he was told. "Now you," Francis said to Alfred as he turned towards the kitchen, "Come and help me clean dishes."

"Right," Alfred said, and stood up. With a last worried look in Arthur's direction, he followed Francis into the kitchen. Francis handed him a dishtowel, rolled up his sleeves, and began to soap up the nearest plate. Alfred watched him curiously; Francis seemed to be a completely different person that the one he had met in the Dunkin' Donuts.

They heard the water start running in the bathroom and Francis relaxed. "Ah," he said. "We can talk now." He looked at Alfred with a sly look on his face. "Before this whole thing, were things going . . . satisfactorily?"

"Uh, yeah? Sure," Alfred said, not sure what he meant.

"You know," Francis said. Alfred looked at him. Francis waved towards the bedroom and made some suggestive gestures. Alfred blushed.

"Right. Yeah. Good."

"Good." Francis gave a nod. "He deserves to still get some, even though he does seem to enjoy being painfully alone. I suppose you don't need much advice at this point; I'm sure he'll have helped you figure everything out." Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He supposed it was his duty to defend Arthur's honour, but really, when was he going to get another chance to talk to Francis like this? Plus, he was dying of curiosity. So he let Francis continue. "You know to get on top you have to make it clear right from the start, hmm? Give him the slightest reason to think you're not in control and he'll take advantage of it." Francis scrubbed vigorously at the bottom of a pan. "It's always best to warm him up by serving him some of that awful English tea. Oh, and what he really likes best is –" He leaned in close to whisper in Alfred's ear. Alfred stared, slightly open-mouthed. By the time Arthur turned off the shower, Alfred felt a lot more well-informed and liked Francis a lot more. "Call me and we can talk about this further," Francis said with a wink as Arthur opened the door and stepped out.

"Talk about what?" Arthur asked suspiciously as he eyed Alfred's enthusiastic grin.

Alfred and Francis exchanged smiling glances and then both turned to look appreciatively at Arthur. "Much better," Francis said, looking him up and down. Alfred practically skipped over to him and gave him a hug.

Arthur glared at Francis over his shoulder. "Thank you," he muttered. "I appreciate you cleaning the kitchen."

"And throwing out all your food," Francis said. "I hope you don't mind going out to eat tonight (Alfred's treat, of course), because all the leftovers had gone bad."

"None of them had gone bad!" Arthur said indignantly. "I'm not completely incompetent."

"_Non, _you misunderstand," Francis said. "They were all your cooking. It made me nauseous just to look at them."

"Some of them were kind of scary, Artie," Alfred told him with a worried glance.

"Francis, the last time you ate my cooking was when you were eight years old! You had no right to throw it out! And since when do you call me Artie?" he asked, looking accusingly at Alfred. Alfred just grinned.

"And even that I regret," Francis said with a sigh. "It still haunts my nightmares."

"It was a bloody cupcake!"

"It was _terrible._"

"We made a pot of tea," Alfred said helpfully. He was enjoying himself immensely. "You can have some of it if we sit in the living room."

"What an excellent idea," Francis said, and ushered Arthur in the correct direction.

"Plus, I was five years old," Arthur said. "I've improved."

"Judging from the contents of your refrigerator, you haven't," Francis said firmly.

Alfred got them settled and served them tea. "Why, thank you," Arthur said, mildly impressed, though it seemed a little suspicious. Alfred had never shown any interest in tea before. He sipped it. _Quite good, _he thought, surprised. _Not excellent, but good. _

Alfred joined them. "So, if you guys knew each other when you were kids, how did you both end up over here?" They both looked at him, then at the floor, and then away from one another. _Oh, _thought Alfred.

"I moved because of work," Francis said, and sipped his tea.

"I did also," Arthur said stiffly, and did likewise.

"_Non_, you moved because you thought I would take you back," Francis said with a feral grin.

"No," Arthur said haughtily. "I've told you a thousand times, I simply came to stay with some relatives in Virginia. And you did take me back. Besides, I didn't move until you'd been gone for _five years_."

"Yes, well, we'd just had a rather large fight."

"Yes, because you decided to leave me for a job on the other side of the _bloody ocean!" _

Alfred cleared his throat rather loudly; subtly had never been one of his strong suits. Arthur huffed and Francis pursed his lips. Then Francis smiled and gave Alfred a wink. "You see, if it weren't for my good looks, you two never would have met."

"Stupid frog," Arthur muttered, and sipped his tea. Alfred grinned.

"Well," Francis said as he put his teacup down with a sigh, "I had best leave you to it. It's been fun. Oh, and Alfred, you really should treat Arthur to dinner tonight. He honestly doesn't have anything to eat."

Alfred gave him a mock salute and a grin. "Will do."

Everyone stood up and walked to the door. Arthur put a hand on Francis's arm. "Thanks," he said, meaning it.

Francis smiled. "The least I could do."

"See ya," Alfred said happily, and Francis left.

"Phew," Arthur said as he closed the door. "I'm exhausted."

"Yeah." Alfred wrapped his arms around him.

Arthur sighed contentedly. There was a moment of silence. Then: "So, where are you taking me to dinner?"

Alfred grinned. "McDonalds?"

"No," Arthur said firmly into his shirt. "But nice try."

Alfred laughed and kissed him. "Then wherever you want."

"Mm," Arthur said. "Much better."

"I love you."

"I know." Arthur tilted his head and kissed him softly. He hesitated slightly, then: "I love you too."

And Alfred kissed him as if he was never going to stop.

* * *

_Author's note: _I figure that Francis has a rather caring side and doesn't mind showing it once in a while; how else could he be such a good lover? ;) I chose the rose as Arthur's favorite flower because it is one of England's national emblems. I go back and forth between thinking he should represent the entire United Kingdom and thinking he should just represent England, but in this story I decided to have him represent England while his three unnamed brothers represent the other countries in the UK (Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales).


	12. Dessert

_Chapter 12: Dessert_

_Author's note: _Sorry guys, I totally messed up my timeline in the last chapter. -.-' They wouldn't have been dating for more than 3.5 months at that point, so it didn't make a ton of sense for Alfred to be mentioning their 6 month "anniversary." I deleted the reference (though rather belatedly), but no worries; I will still cover it in this chapter.

A quick food note: according to Wikipedia _varenyky _are stuffed dumplings, though they are actually more popular in Ukraine than in Russia. Wontons are a type of Chinese dumpling.

So! This is the **second to last chapter** (the last will be lucky 13). :) If there's anything else you would like to see included in this story or anything you feel I have left unresolved, now's the time to let me know!

* * *

Arthur finally met Ivan and Yao when Alfred invited him over for lunch. When Alfred opened the door and ushered Arthur inside, he was met with the sight of three people staring at him from the kitchen table. Arthur swallowed. "This is Arthur," Alfred announced proudly. From the way he said it, Arthur guessed that he had already briefed his roommates on their relationship.

"Hello again," Kiku said quietly.

"You look familiar, aru," the Chinese man said, furrowing his brow.

"You might have opened the door once," Arthur said, immediately kicking himself for how stupid he sounded.

"Huh," the man said. "Well, I'm Yao." He stood up and smiled in a friendly way.

"Hi," Arthur said, and shook the offered hand. He turned and looked at the third person. He was also smiling, but in a way that made Arthur's hair stand on end.

"Hello," he said, with a thick russian accent. He seemed incapable of blinking. Arthur automatically moved closer to Alfred.

"That's Ivan," Alfred said carelessly. "Well, now that that's done, let's get down to lunch," he said, already moving towards the refrigerator. Kiku sighed and Yao let out a groan of annoyance.

"Not if you're cooking!" Yao said. "We still have leftover crab from last night."

"And varenyky," Ivan said smoothly.

"No way!" said Yao. "If we're going to have dumplings, we should have wontons!"

"Guys, guys," Alfred said. "We're having hamburgers. I picked some up this morning because it's all something we can agree on, right?"

"No way!" the three of the roommates cried in unison, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "Besides," Yao said, "Think of Arthur. He doesn't want that stuff, right?" He looked at Arthur.

"Well, I –"

"He'd much prefer Chinese cuisine."

"No, Russian food is much better."

"To be honest, I –"

"Then it's decided," Yao said, standing up. "He'll have a little bit of everything."

So Arthur ended up with a plate full of food, most of which he had never seen before. Alfred had even insisted on giving him a quarter of a hamburger, which he had wedged in between a dumpling and a sushi roll. Everyone else seemed to be eating only their preferred cuisine. _There is an amazing lack of unity in this household, _Arthur thought. Ivan seemed to be trying to sneak one of his dumplings onto Yao's plate, who was having none of it. _It's strange. I can't tell if they're even friends or not. _

Arthur ended up staying far longer than he had expected. They pulled him into a game of Risk, which Ivan seemed very enthusiastic about – and which made Alfred more competitive than Arthur had ever seen him before. Arthur was actually doing quite well for a while, but after a few hours he found himself loosing. That was about when they decided to put the game on hold, and Alfred drove Arthur home. "That was fun," Arthur said. "Thank you."

Alfred smiled. "Good. Maybe you could stay over sometime."

"Yeah, maybe I could," Arthur said with a smile.

The next week, Alfred called him up and told him that his roommates were going to a party Saturday night that promised to last until early the next morning, so did he maybe want to spend the night? Arthur blanched and immediately thought of all sorts of problems with this plan, but realised that it would hypocritical to refuse. Alfred picked him up at 8.

They talked for a while, and then curled up on the couch and watched TV until Alfred noticed that Arthur was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open. "Let's head upstairs," Alfred said softly, turning off the TV and giving Arthur a kiss. It was long and lingering.

"What time are they going to be back?" Arthur murmured.

"Two in the morning, is my guess," Alfred mumbled against his lips.

"Mm," Arthur said, and didn't even protest more than with a brief "tsk" and a playful slap on his chest when Alfred bodily picked him up and carried him up the stairs.

* * *

"What did you mean when you that love wasn't important?" Alfred asked, tracing circles on Arthur's bare stomach.

Arthur rolled his head so he could see him and gazed at him lazily. "Hmm?"

"When we were fighting. You said that being in love didn't matter." Alfred was looking at Arthur, curiosity and a slight amount of hurt in his half-lidded blue eyes.

Arthur sighed and looked at the ceiling. He buried his fingers in Alfred's hair, absentmindedly twisting it around his fingers. "It matters," he said finally. "I shouldn't have said it like I did. But being in love doesn't guarantee that a relationship will last."

"Ah," Alfred said, turning his gaze back to Arthur's skin. He was silent for a moment. "I suppose."

"You do know that I – that I want this work, don't you?" Arthur swallowed. It was so hard to say what he meant to say: _I more than want this to work, I need it to work. I love you so much. I'm sorry I ever tried to end it. . . . _

"Yes." Alfred leaned over him and looked into his eyes for a moment. "It will." There was not an ounce of doubt in his voice, and Arthur felt his heart leap into his throat. Alfred kissed him deeply, pressing him into the pillow. Arthur felt like he was drowning, but he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and pulled him closer. When they separated, Alfred snuggled up against him in the small bed. "You'll still be here in the morning, right?" he mumbled.

Arthur smiled. "Yes, I will."

"Good," Alfred said, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Arthur did not recall falling asleep, but he must have, because he was woken very suddenly by pounding footsteps on the stairs. He shifted with a groan and opened his eyes to find that it was clearly morning. The door swung open and someone burst through it, yelling, "Hey Alfred, we're home! It was aweso–" Arthur sat up and blinked at the man standing in the doorway, while Alfred jerked his head up beside him with a "Wha-?". Arthur's mind searched for a name. Long black ponytail. . . . _Yao? _"Aieee!" Yao screeched, and the door slammed shut. "IVAN, THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN ALFRED'S BED!" Arthur heard the sound of Yao running down the hall and plopped back down in the bed with a sigh.

"Wait Yao, I – !" Alfred tossed off the covers. "Oh my God, I am so sorry Arthur," he said, beginning to look wildly about his room for some clothes. Arthur snorted and pulled the covers back up to his chin, declining to comment. "I'll be right back, I will," Alfred said, tossing on a shirt. "I just need to –" He flung open the door and then hastily closed it behind him. "Yao?" Arthur heard him call. "Ivan? Come on guys, it's just Arthur." Arthur rolled over and gazed about the room. _Dammit Alfred, _he thought. _If you had told them I was staying over like you were supposed to, this wouldn't have happened. _He listened to the distance noises of people walking downstairs and the muffled sounds of talking. _You had better not make me escape through the window. _Arthur was pretty sure he had never felt so embarrassed before in his life. Okay, maybe that was stretch, but it was pretty darn close.

He decided to examine Alfred's room in his absence, as he hadn't had much of a chance the night before. Posters covered the walls, mostly of super heros, and all in a style that could only be described as pop art. Some of them were framed and actually appeared to be vintage. The book cases were mostly filled with comic books and action figures. There were a few stuffed dolls, one of them shaped like an alien. Arthur gazed at it for a moment, because it gave the definite impression that it was _looking _at him, but then his gaze traveled to Alfred's messy desk. There were definite similarities between the decor of the room and the one at Alfred's parents' house, but it was clear that Alfred had matured at least slightly between the two. He had become slightly neater, and his sheets were actually solid colours. Arthur let his head plop back down on the pillow and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, Arthur heard pounding footsteps on the stairs again, and moments later Alfred flung the door open. "Sorry about all that," Alfred said guiltily. "It's okay to come downstairs now. I've convinced them you're not a burglar."

"If I were a burglar, why would I be sleeping in your bed?" Arthur asked crossly as Alfred handed him a shirt and his jeans.

"I have no idea," Alfred said, cracking a smile.

"Did you seriously not tell them I'm be spending the night, after all the discussions we've had about this?"

Alfred sat down on the bed beside him and kissed his forehead tenderly. "Don't hurt yourself," he said gently. "I told them you'd be coming over. Yao was the only one who didn't make the connection."

"Hrmph," Arthur said. He hated to admit it, but Alfred was making it awfully difficult to remain angry.

"Now if you're all set, we should probably go downstairs and prove that you're who I said you were, because Yao's next assumption was that I was sleeping around." Alfred rolled his eyes. Arthur had to smile a little at his exasperated expression. He let Alfred help him up off the bed, but as he headed for the door Alfred grabbed him around the waist and bent him down into a deep, luxurious kiss. When they parted, Alfred smiled at him gently. Arthur suddenly felt completely at ease.

Predictably, Kiku, Yao, and Ivan were waiting downstairs at the kitchen table. They broke off whatever heated discussion they had been having when Alfred and Arthur appeared. "Good morning, da," Ivan said with a lazy smile that spoke of sharp, pointy objects. "I hope you enjoyed your night."

"We did, thanks," Alfred said, way too cheerfully. Arthur blushed.

"Don't embarrass the bride," Ivan said to Alfred with a slow smile before turning back to the food in front of him. Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep from squawking indignantly.

"I'm so sorry!" Yao cried, as though he couldn't restrain himself any longer. "If I had known you were here, I wouldn't have been so rude! I'm so sorry!"

"I-It's fine," Arthur managed.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Kiku asked quietly.

"Yes please," Arthur said gratefully, just as Alfred exclaimed, "Yeah, I'm starved! I'll make us pancakes!" Arthur started to protest but decided against it. He slumped into a chair with a sigh.

"Didn't get much sleep?" Yao asked sympathetically. Arthur stared at him, quickly turning pink again and not sure how to respond.

"We've been up all night because of the party," Kiku added.

"Ah," said Arthur, deciding that no answer was the best bet. The topic of conversation quickly moved on to something else, and Arthur lost track of time. It was nearly 11am when Alfred offered to drive him home, and Arthur gladly accepted.

A little over a month later, Alfred was driving him Arthur from a movie when he became strangely quiet. "Hey, do you know how long we've been dating?"

Arthur had to think about that. "Huh. A bit over five months?"

"Yeah." He flashed Arthur a grin. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Arthur smiled. "Yeah. It's gone by fast."

Alfred laughed. "I don't know, it feels like forever since I first saw you at that club. But yeah, it still does feel like it's gone by fast. Strange how that works."

"I guess I've probably been something of a disappointment."

"What? Of course not!" exclaimed Alfred, looking at him in surprise. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, there you must have been, looking at me in my leather pants and figuring I was a party sort of guy."

Alfred snorted. "I never figured that. Well, maybe I did, but not for very long." He grinned. "I could tell you were uptight just from looking at you."

"Hey," said Arthur dryly.

"Besides," said Alfred, "You've been way better than I expected."

Arthur could have found an insult in there somewhere, he knew, but Alfred's tone made it clear that he meant it in the best way possible. Arthur propped his head up on his fist and gazed at Alfred with a slight smile on his lips. "You've been pretty good yourself."

Alfred just grinned. "Oh, so, with six months coming up, I was thinking, do you want to do something?"

"Sure."

"Awesome."

"What kind of something?"

"What do you say we go out someplace nice? My treat."

"Wasn't our first date your treat too?"

"What, the donut place or the Indian place?"

"Both of them," drawled Arthur.

"Well, where I come from, it's customary to treat the lady," Alfred said with a touch of a (perhaps slightly sexy) southern drawl.

Arthur turned bright red. "I'm not the lady!"

Alfred laughed, and kept laughing. Arthur scowled at him. When Alfred finally regained his breath, he reached over and patted Arthur gently on the knee. "Yes, my dear. Whatever you say."

"We can argue about the bill when we get it," Arthur said haughtily, ignoring Alfred's teasing.

"Sounds good," said Alfred happily, because they both knew he was going to win anyway.

Alfred wore the nice white shirt Arthur had given him, and the suit jacket and pants he wore with it made Arthur distinctly happy. Alfred produced a single red rose, and Arthur took it with a smile and a kiss. Alfred drove them to the restaurant they had decided on and acted like a perfect gentleman. The meal was actually rather good, Arthur had to admit, and Alfred preened a little because it was, he said, an "American" restaurant (_Which means absolutely nothing_, Arthur informed him, _because there is no such thing_. Alfred just laughed.). They hardly ever went out to eat anymore, and Arthur could feel himself relaxing and remembering all the reasons why he loved Alfred in the first place. There was his smile; there was his laugh; there was the silly expression he got when he was thinking and eating at the same time. They decided to share a chocolate fondant for dessert. While they waited for it to arrive, Alfred lapsed into silence and gazed at Arthur with a slight smile on his face. Arthur quickly began to feel uncomfortable, and he fidgeted in his seat. "What is it?" he finally demanded.

"You're really cute when you're angry," Alfred said, the smile not leaving his face.

"That's not why you had that expression on your face to begin with," Arthur said crossly.

"I was just thinking," Alfred said, "That if I could, now is about the time I would ask you to marry me."

Arthur stared. For a full ten seconds, he could think of absolutely nothing to say. "You can't be – Alfred, six months is hardly long enough! And you can't – And if you could, you wouldn't, because _really –" _Alfred was still looking at him, clearly amused. Arthur took a deep breath. He looked at his hands, and then back at Alfred. "Really?" he asked.

"Really."

"Jeez," said Arthur. It hit him, really hit him, that Alfred really did mean it. Alfred reached across the table and took his hand, still smiling so softly and gently. Arthur felt his breath being taken away. "For what it's worth," he whispered, "If you asked, I think I'd say yes."

Alfred leaned across the table and kissed him, so very sweetly. They parted, and dessert came, and it tasted like heaven. They walked back to the car holding hands, and they drove back to Arthur's apartment, and Alfred didn't leave until after noon the next day.

_If every single day were like this, _Arthur thought, _I think I would be the happiest man in the world. _

* * *

_Author's note: _

**Edit: **Gay marriage is now legal in New York, so this chapter is no longer correct. :) Yessssssss!


	13. April 23rd

_Chapter 13: April 23rd_

_Author's note: _A few chapters ago, I decided that my goal with this story was to pass 40,000 words. This chapter brings us to 40,011 words and, the way I have it formatted, exactly 100 pages. :) Thanks to Hikari Kame for pointing out that I'd been using Yao's last name as his first throughout the entire story. 'orz (It's fixed now.) Thank you all so much for your support! :D

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Arthur quickly finished pulling the meat pie out of the oven and went to see who it was. When he opened the door he found Alfred standing there, balancing a cake box on one hand with an envelope tucked under his arm. He was using his free hand to clutch something to his chest. "I know you're supposed to open your birthday presents after we eat, but I figure we can make an exception, right?" Alfred was grinning, clearly immensely proud of himself. He disentangled whatever he had clutched to his chest from his shirt and held it out gently to Arthur.

_"Mew,"_ the thing in his hand said, and dug its very small claws into Alfred's wrist. He winced.

Arthur stared. The kitten squirmed in Alfred's hand and he took it without really realising what he was doing. He cradled it against his chest, petting its head as he examined it. It was mostly white except for large brown spot surrounding its left eye and a black spot on its back. A red ribbon had been tied around its neck.

"Can I come in?" Alfred asked.

"Uh, right. Yeah," said Arthur, and backed out of the doorway, dazed. Alfred closed the door behind him and Arthur finally looked up to meet his eyes. "Is it, uh–" _Is it really mine?_ Alfred looked at him, not sure of what he was trying to say. Arthur cleared his throat and changed his question. "Is it a boy or a girl?" A new question came to mind, and he looked horrified at the idea. "Has it already been named?"

"It's a girl, and nope, she's all yours." Alfred grinned happily. Arthur looked at the kitten and contemplated this.

Alfred tossed the envelope on the counter and headed into the kitchen to inspect what was for dinner. Arthur's head came up and he gave Alfred such a glare that he froze.

"_Why_," Arthur asked dangerously, one eyebrow raised, "Did you get me a kitten?"

Alfred looked like a deer in headlights. "What? You love it, right? You said you always wished you –"

"I _said,_" Arthur hissed, "That I would have loved to have gotten a cat if the apartment complex allowed it._ It doesn't." _

"But –" Alfred said helplessly, gesturing towards the kitten.

"You're so thoughtless sometimes!" Arthur cried, clutching the kitten even more tightly. "What am I going to do with Spot now? I can't abandon her, and I'm certainly not letting you take her! You didn't even bother to think about the expense of cat food, or that she'll need a litter box and toys!"

"What kind of boring name is Spot?" Alfred asked incredulously, momentarily distracted.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Alfred chuckled and Arthur looked as though he was going to murder him with his bare hands, holding a kitten or not. "Arthur, it's really okay. I already bought a litter box and food and stuff. They're just in my car because I couldn't carry it all up at once. I was thinking that we could go toy shopping tomorrow and make it like a date." Arthur's glare had faded into an expression of annoyance, so Alfred decided it was safe. He walked back over to Arthur and kissed him gently on the forehead with a smile. "Happy birthday."

Arthur looked down at the kitten, embarrassed. "Well, thank you. You still haven't mentioned how you're going to solve the issue about it not being allowed, though," he mumbled.

"Let's have dinner first," said Alfred, smiling in a suspiciously innocent way.

"Alfred," said Arthur warningly, but Alfred was already pulling out plates and putting things on the table. Arthur sighed and decided it wasn't worth it. He put the kitten down gently on the floor and she immediately bounded off into the living room. Arthur entered the kitchen and took the plates out of Alfred's hands. "Alfred, I'll take care of this. You go get the rest of the stuff from the car."

"Sure thing," said Alfred, and with a quick kiss, left the flat.

When Alfred came back, weighed down under about five different bags and boxes, Arthur had the table all set. Arthur helped him unpack everything, and Alfred went off to set up the litter box. Arthur filled the food and water dishes and set them in an appropriate place. They pointed out the litter box to Spot, who seemed to catch on, and then went to have dinner.

Arthur sighed as the familiar taste of the pie filled his mouth. They ate for a moment in silence, just enjoying each other's company. "So, how has your birthday been so far?" Alfred asked.

"Fine. My coworkers sang me happy birthday, and my parents and brothers called me right after work."

"That's nice," said Alfred.

Arthur shrugged. "It's not exactly a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal!" Alfred leaned across the table and looked at him, wide-eyed. "It's your birthday!"

"I can't imagine what you do for _your _birthday," Arthur muttered.

"Have a huge party, of course!"

"Of course," said Arthur, not surprised in the least.

"Oh, I should give you your card." Alfred grabbed the envelope from the counter and tossed it to Arthur. Arthur couldn't help feeling a little bit disappointed; the way Alfred had been acting, he had figured there was something else in the envelope. He pulled out the card. It said "Happy Birthday" in rainbow colours on the front. When he opened it, it started singing the song by the same name. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred, who grinned. "The best kind of birthday card," he said by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you," Arthur said dryly, and closed the card.

"No, don't thank me yet," said Alfred as he jumped out of his seat and pulled the cake out of the refrigerator. He looked around for a lighter, and snatched it up. He looked around at Arthur. "Er, close your eyes. It's supposed to be a surprise."

Arthur rolled his eyes but did as he was told. "Don't tell me you put candles on the cake."

"Of course I did," said Alfred, and Arthur heard the click of the lighter. He heard it click off, and then on again. Alfred seemed to be taking an awfully long time.

"You had better not set off the fire alarm."

"I won't. Okay, you can open your eyes now!" Arthur did, and saw Alfred setting a huge cake before him. It had to be huge, he supposed, because it was covered with candles. "There are 34. I counted," said Alfred happily.

"Alfred, you're not supposed to _remind _me about how old I am."

Alfred sat down and scooted over next to Arthur. "I think it's a great age." He kissed him on the cheek and Arthur blushed a little with pleasure. "Aren't you going to make a wish?" Arthur was about to refuse, but he thought about it for a moment, and then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and blew out all the candles. Alfred looked at him excitedly. "What did you wish for?"

"Well, I can't tell you, can I?" Arthur said smugly.

"Aww," said Alfred. "Please?"

Arthur shook his head, smiling. He noticed another envelope sitting in front of the cake with his name scrawled across its surface. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up curiously.

"The rest of your present."

Arthur glanced at Alfred. He looked expectant and almost nervous. Arthur tore open the envelope and pulled out several folded sheets of paper that had been stapled together. Arthur smoothed them out. They were listings for flats, each one with a little picture and an address. "Pets allowed" had been highlighted below the first one. Arthur flipped through the pages. "Cats acceptable," said one; "All pets welcome," said another.

"I was thinking we could look for an apartment together," Alfred said, his voice suddenly uncertain. "I know that we haven't really talked about it and moving's kind of stressful, but I tried to find ones that are reasonably close to our works and stuff, so–"

Arthur pulled him into a hug, cutting off his nervous babbling. "Stop it. It's perfect."

"Perfect?" mumbled Alfred into his hair.

"The perfect present." Arthur released him and looked him seriously in the eyes. "I think it's a wonderful idea."

"Really?" Alfred's face lit up and he broke into a grin. "You'd be willing to live with me?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alfred, I practically already live with you."

"But, see me every day?"

"Alfred, I don't think you understand–" he broke off and sighed. Alfred was looking at him curiously. "Seeing you any day is a privilege," he whispered, looking embarrassedly at Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred pulled his chin up and kissed him sweetly. Alfred's hair was soft beneath his hands. His eyes fluttered closed. "Are you going to cut the cake?" Alfred murmured against his skin.

"Yes, I am going to cut the cake," he said dryly, opening his eyes. Alfred was still pressed against him. "I'll even let you lick the icing off the candles." Alfred grinned and released him. He proceeded to pull all the candles off the cake while Arthur got a knife. "Let's eat in the living room," he said over his shoulder. "I'm going to put on some tea."

"Sounds good," said Alfred, who obligingly served up the cake and it into the living room.

When Arthur entered a few minutes later with the pot of tea, he saw Alfred kneeling down in front of the curtains, apparently having a whispered argument with himself. "Alfred, what are you–?"

Alfred looked around guiltily, revealing the kitten with its claws dug deep into the fabric. Alfred had both kitten and curtain firmly in his hands and seemed to be in the process of disentangling them. There was a ripping sound. Alfred's head whipped back around to the cat and he hissed, "Stop it! You're really going to get it now!"

Arthur smiled slightly and put the tea down on the side table. He strode over to the two of them and knelt down at Alfred's side. He gently brushed Alfred's hands away and took hold of the kitten. "Now Spot," he murmured as he carefully unhooked her claws one by one, "you shouldn't do that." He tapped her gently on the nose. "Now, run along." He set her down and gave her a pat on the bottom for good measure. He looked up to find Alfred staring at him. "What?"

"Geez, Artie. I thought you were going to skin her alive there for a sec." Alfred grinned weakly.

"I don't make a habit of skinning kittens," Arthur said crossly. He stood up and brushed off his pants. "What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"

"But she totally destroyed your curtains!"

Arthur sighed. "If I'm going to have a kitten, I'm going to have to get used to it, aren't I? And she didn't destroy my curtains. She just put some holes in them."

Alfred followed him to the couch and snuggled up against him, smiling. "You really do have a soft spot for small, defenceless creatures, don't you?"

"Who doesn't?" Arthur asked, blushing a little.

Alfred pulled Arthur against him. "I know that even when we move in together, there are going to be some days when I'll be at work and you'll be at home, or whatever, and I won't be with you. I wish I could be with you every second of every day, but . . . I hope Spot will keep you from feeling too lonely."

Arthur blushed. "I never feel lonely, prat," he said, pushing Alfred away half-heartedly. Alfred just held him more tightly and kissed him on the cheek. "Besides, Spot makes a poor substitute for you."

"But she's soft and fluffy," said Alfred grinning.

"And you're neither," returned Arthur. He picked up his cake and tasted it. _Vanilla with raspberry filling, _he noticed, savouring it. _One of my favourites. _They ate in silence, leaning against each other comfortably. Spot jumped up on the couch and curled up against Arthur, purring gently. Arthur put down his plate and rubbed her between the ears.

"So," said Alfred, also putting down his plate, "Are you at least going to tell me what you wished for when it comes true?"

Arthur smiled and kissed him gently, drawing it out, long and lingering. "I think it already has."


End file.
